Eloquence

The wish

2011-12-08T22:56:00.001+05:30

I've maimed myself. There is no excuse to cry or blame. The world still turns. The movement splashes colours in front of me. If I could just stop I would see. The stillness wants to whisper to me secrets. If I could just pause to listen I would hear. The movement, the stillness and everything in between; if I could just care enough I would feel. I have let this noise sweep me away effortlessly. The night is no more enigmatic, the rain is nothing but wet. Is there a loss that I must mourn or an irrelevance I must ignore? Should I stop to wonder at the depths of all that holds meaning? I question that whose answers are already known. My heedlessness is a vicious parasite. I console myself with pathetic excuses; with delusions behind whose tattered veils I hide. A sorry soul once oblivious to the rabble but now immersed in it would leave little room for pity. Why do I choose to stay in this gloom? It was an easy choice once, but no more the most satisfying. Words brave this gloom and come to me, but turn away after waiting in vain to manifest, disappointed. They call me a coward and I grow weary of this guilt. I yearn to weave magic with my gift. To give life to thoughts. A desire to pen an ode to things as obvious as a thunderstorm and as subtle as the reflection of a lover in the eyes of the beloved. A desire to see where I was only looking. A desire to feel. A desire to live again...

The sunshine girl

2011-10-24T10:31:00.000+05:30

A light of wonderspaints a rainbow in the skies

So does your ready smileand that glint in your eyes

Maybe there's a storyor a secret to be told

Share a new adventureor some memories of the old

Laughter tinkles andspreads like a wildfire

Douses all the angerand abates all the ire

Trivial seem the sorrowsand the senseless fears

When we laugh, silentand hard, crying happy tears

Your heartceaselessly searches for any taint of despair

To wash it away withprayers and concern and care

At times you comeseeking comfort and advice

Giving me a chance toput back the rainbow in the skies

A thousand seasonschange within a moment on your face

You're a colourfulsoul, many worlds filled in one place

If this beauty wereto outwardly glow

Heads would turn,hearts would stop everywhere you go

To some you're a confidante,a kind friend to some

Oblivious you're of theblessing that you've become

A light of wonders sopure and bright and whole

Let your coloursspread and shine on my soul

The Deathly Quiet of the Living

2011-08-21T19:06:00.003+05:30

A tear stains his rough, lined and aged cheek

His story he tells with words forced and meek

Of a mother’s broken sigh, of a wail of a child unfed

Of a father’s struggle, of the silence of the dead

Children gather mutely, half naked, filthy and frail

Around the old man who tonelessly recounts his tale

No more spark in their sunken eyes as they vacantly stare

No more will for anguish, no more strength for despair

Resignedly he shows me the graves beyond a wall

Heartbreakingly many and many heartbreakingly small

If this goes on, he says, none from his village will remain

Their straits are dire yet their pleading will be in vain

In the wilted fields, in the parched, cracked lands

Under the harshest sun, over the most arid sands

As far as the eye can see only emptiness and barrenness reign

Yet it is their home; to forsake it their hearts won’t deign

How many times have I pushed away my food with distaste

“This fruit is not to my liking, this bread is nothing but waste!”

If only I knew of their unending suffering and sacrifice

For every grain I would thank, for every crumb I would rejoice

If saints and prophets were to see the man’s present state

The power-hungry monster, the wealth-snatching ingrate

They would cry, is this the man to whom we fervently told

To share his wealth, to feed the poor, to care for the old?

How fortunate we are that Divine Mercy exceeds the Wrath

Still compassionate souls live to walk in the saints’ and prophets’ path

As long as the earth hums with their tireless efforts to keep their word

There’s hope that the old man’s sad tale will soon be heard

This poem is dedicated to the Somali people and everyone else around the world suffering and dying from hunger, and also to those men and women working day and night to eradicate this suffering.

The hiatus

2011-07-31T23:46:00.002+05:30

It’s been a while. I’ve never gone so long without writing since I took it up as a hobby seriously. Not just blogging, since not everything I write goes up on my blog site; but writing in general. There have been numerous days when I’ve found myself huddled in my room with a battered diary and a pen furiously jotting down whatever that sprung up in my mind as a result of an epiphany or inspiration. My creativity would go on a manic overdrive consistently, if unpredictably. I could afford this literal insanity; even wholeheartedly welcome it, since everything else was so constant, so predictable, and normal to the point of being boring. Then there came a deluge of changes. All kinds of changes. Changes in me, around me, in others. A few expected, many others unexpected and all of them inevitable. The phrase ‘nothing lasts forever’ took a whole new level of meaning for me. It’s so easy to delude ourselves that we do it quite unwittingly. It is quite easy when things are going normally for us. We live in a bubble without even knowing of its existence until something or someone comes along and bursts it to nothingness. Now this happens to everyone at some point or the other I’m sure. What sets us apart from each other is how we set about to do the damage control. In the end it comes down to the realization that just as the bubble of contentment met its end, this gloom will have an end too. And it’s not necessary that solving all the problems and finding the answers to predicaments will lift the gloom. There are no ultimate winners or losers in this fragile, never-lasting realm. You've won a little over life just by deciding to face its problems and lost by choosing to run away from them. Already I feel like I’ve triumphed over my inconsistent writing dilemma by spewing out so much “deep stuff” while fiction writing has always been my repertoire. So despite all the tears and heartbreaks an mishaps and all the known and unknown things that go with them that I’d rather avoid, there’s still one insanity that I can afford and wholeheartedly welcome.

The Joy That Wounds

2011-06-25T01:45:00.001+05:30

You try to be faithful

And sometimes you're cruel.

You are mine. Then, you leave.

Without you, I can't cope.

And when you take the lead,

I become your footstep.

Your absence leaves a void.

Without you, I can't cope.

You have disturbed my sleep,

You have wrecked my image.

You have set me apart.

Without you, I can't cope.

~ Rumi

The haunt

2011-06-01T21:53:00.000+05:30

0337 hours.

As I sit here unable to succumb to sleep watching a storm struggling to unleash but not quite getting there, I remember other nights that lay more significant imprint on my memory. Not just with their better luck with storms but whatever such nights entailed. One particular stormy night was, among other things, a merciful show of Nature compared to what, it, the Nature had wreaked not many days previously, in a land safely distant from ours. The bright morning of that fateful day had just begun to witness an enthusiastic and tri-coloured display of celebration of a deeply instilled patriotism. As it is the way of thing, the enthusiasts were mostly schoolchildren in whom the love for their nation yet remained genuine, innocent and unconditional. Unsuspecting to those who rejoiced and also those who didn’t, (she never paused to differentiate) the Earth trembled violently and brought absolute chaos, death and destruction. As the land shook and tore and folded and cracked, many of those who had just begun to commemorate its republicanism, perished.

Like any other day struck by the wrath of Nature it was a day of agony, loss and pain. And for many more days and months and years to come it would continue to be. Fear of another unpredictable disaster gripped the many vulnerable lands with its icy clutches. We reeled with shock, we mourned and we became wrought with wariness. In our own home the concern and fear became disturbingly palpable on that stormy night which this memory of mine has borne. It was unprecedented for it to storm as it was too early in the year for any kind of noisy weather. Winter, at least in climatic theory, was in full swing. But our household, still diligently wary of nature, couldn't see an unusual storm as just another unusual storm. This untimed phenomenon only fed our fear, I, of course, was too young to grasp the paranoia. My fear then only encompassed the flashing lightening, the roaring thunder and the howling, rain laden wind. The real fear dawned on me only after I was told that we were all going to sleep together in one room that night. This sudden announcement brought more dread than comfort. And this dread whispered terrifying secrets into my naive heart.

The howling night is ominous. The electricity is gone, gloom is everywhere those flickering lamps cannot reach and the loved ones from whose unexpected nearness you are trying to draw courage and a sense of safety will only give you a momentary respite. Just wait till slumber takes over. Just wait till the dark oblivion tears your defences down. Until then remember the torn lives and ripped homes that plagued the other land not so long ago. It didn't matter that it was a cheery morning and young eager innocents like you wore their best, waved flags and ate sweets, did it? Now this night is anything but cheery and festive. This unusual solidarity to face what is to come among your kin is your final comfort. Just wait. As this drenched night deepens it will witness a catastrophe not unlike the one that bright morning did. Seek reprieve in this unusual gesture of togetherness in the face of concern and fear, while it lasts. For once the world has slept, it will be rudely awoken to the screams of more than just the stormy night.

The lamps winked out, the storms abated as if it never happened and the world awoke with the sun and yet, like tonight, I didn't succumb to sleep.

The transcendent

2011-04-14T20:54:00.000+05:30

Flickering dreams within dreams of the past

Fleeting glimpses and flashes of deep secrets they cast

A woven silken spell so tender and benign

Neither a vision of promise nor an ominous sign

A sea of delusion as the heart’s dark refuge

An innocent, unsuspecting of impending deluge

Of the poisoned truth and the ravaged lies

The facade of bonds hiding the severed ties

Lest it succumbs, the mind hunts for grace

Shunning the tempt of an image, an ethereal face

That which ruled thoughts from the glorious helm

Now only haunts the recesses of the dark realm

The journey began to meet its infantile end

A clarity, fate from its murky depths did lend

That the days of travel would be painfully brief

And memories would bring back a souvenir of grief

All crushed, the traitorous heart dauntlessly hums

The rhythm of life until the call to relinquish comes

As it falters and breaks and languishes and burns

In an illusion of reality the world impenitently turns

Many colours the relentless angel in flesh had brought

Riddled with mortality, this tortured heart it sought

Its relentless soul, the heart will yearn and meet its demise

Hoping to meet the seeker in the plains of eternal sunrise

The perdition

2011-04-02T12:50:00.000+05:30

Deep in the bowels of his darkness he stirred uneasily. Dawn was approaching and he could not but wait for it with much trepidation. His dawn was not like the dawn of the illusory yet deceptively tangible world. Dawn marked the start of the day and activities of most of these vain mortals. For him dawn was the rise of a ball of fire whose purpose and affects were much different from its heavenly counterpart. And the dawn was approaching earlier and with much more deliberation with the passing of each earthly day. This gave him lesser time to recuperate, to plot, to try to take over.

How had things gone so horribly wrong? He had been a fool to rejoice in that painfully short lived victory. Looking back, it seemed like it was no victory at all. No. that pseudo-victory had been the start of this inexplicable nightmare. If only he could glimpse the future. But he couldn’t. That didn’t belong in his bag of tricks that he was so proud of, which now seemed suddenly short so many more tricks he wished to possess. He couldn’t worry about that now. Dawn was arriving, much faster that it had previously. And he had to get tot work. Although the work weakened him he couldn’t stop. Stopping would mean the death of him or something morbidly equivalent, since mortality wasn’t known to his kind of entity.

This wasn’t always how it used to be. His abode was a welcome retreat. A place where he relished each moment of his existence and his many exploits thrived. He’d never required rest; it was as alien to him as mortality. Those little potent conscience-induced moments that his abode went through routinely, barely managed to slow down his pace. He had been relentless. He had been a conqueror. He used to successfully invade every thought and action and disposition that his abode manifested and turn them his way. And when the world slept, it felt like he’d attained an awakening beyond his perpetual wakeful state. So many possibilities, so many avenues of adventure, so much darkness, so much power. He was never carried away of course. He knew he’s being watched. He knew it better than any of these unsuspecting mortal fools who were often swept away by their unknown powers at the slightest ghost of his whisper. How he used to mock and jeer and laugh at them. How his soundless voice reverberated endlessly within the bounds of his abode. And when the great Opportunity had knocked at his abode’s door he’d welcomed it with much malicious delight. One slip and the world had been his. He’d marveled at his fortune, reveled at the complete shift if power to his hands, celebrated the senseless thrill of what seemed to be the biggest conquest of all. What a fool he had been!

Now it seemed like the power that had so gloriously peaked to its highest extent had just as rapidly plunged to a dangerously low level. Yet, he worked, he had to work; laboriously yet diligently. His work was what kept him going; gave meaning and purpose to his eternal existence; fed his go; empowered his prized arrogance. He felt raging anger. His abode had turned against him; threatened to expel his presence. He knew his extinction was impossible but the mere intention directed towards that impossible goal weakened the tools of rebellion that he treasured so much. He could start an all-out war. But he had and knew his limits. After all he’s being watched. What was iniquitously worse was that he was being attacked without prior warning. His abode had not only turned against him but fortified itself with unpredictable, mercilessly potent yet efficient weapons. His trickery and tools were mere playthings in front of such an arsenal.

What a shame it was! Why couldn’t he just get rid of them when they were lying there dormant and buried. They’d seemed so harmless then. He was so brazenly confident about the power of his tools and tricks. They were so easy to manifest. Humanity frowned upon them but was secretly slave to them. Such hypocrisy! What a charm and allure it had. His other tools were no less either. The seductive greed, the consuming selfishness, the thrilling anger, the soothing slander, the addictive grief, the hypnotic desire, on and on they went. Now these tools were the ones that lay dormant, occasionally unleashing their power, but feebly so, failing pathetically to cast a lasting effect. Now he was up against the fiery patience, the torturous gentleness, the unforgiving kindness, the harsh humility, the soul-searing love, the bludgeoning belief, the painful trust, the terrifying hope and so many more horrors that he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Dawn was upon him, the first rays of blinding light made up of devoted mind, fervent heart, praying lips and weeping eyes that cut like invisible blades through his dark dominion. Yet, he worked; used his tools; fought to get his abode back. He couldn’t stop. He had after all sworn never to.

The stellar reach

2010-12-09T12:24:00.001+05:30

Do you know beyond the rising moon

A star awaits to sparkle soon?

Yearning to shine, unwavering

Far more than just a traveller’s boon

She dipped into the sea of night

Embraced the dark with much delight

A cold fire that burned with grace

Neither daunted nor out of sight

A guiding light, a gift so pure

A loyal friend, so firm so sure

A Divine sign for those who ponder

A lover’s hope, a poet’s lure

Beheld her, the child, eyes agape

A diamond on a smooth black cape

That child was I, a child no more

With life to mend and dreams to shape

Yet now I gaze into the sky

Watch her as eons pass her by

Untouched by them will she remain

While I will age, wither and die

The Dusk

2010-10-30T22:33:00.000+05:30

Deep on the horizon, built of the hottest of fires

Burns with the last of its might like the fiercest desires

Layers upon layers of heavenly magic it weaves

Beckoning to the darkness, for the other side as it leaves.

Shimmering and languid rivers, like lava they flow

Bathed in soft saffron, trees like embers aglow

Orange in the forests, glittering rubies in the sea

Golden in your hair, as fiery eyes gaze deeply at me.

Hypnotic hues melt hearts by kindling fires within

Enrapture us with fables that don’t end, only begin

Surreal painted skies none but Divinely contrived

Gifting us a moment whence a mythical autumn has arrived

Come, revel in this wondrous, painfully short hour

Ablaze with all its beauty near the shift of power

If tomorrow’s promise breaks bringing darkness and gloom

With the last blazing sunset on our souls we will enter our doom.

The gift

2010-08-20T23:48:00.000+05:30

As I got on the train that cool rainy night I felt apprehension for the first time regarding the journey we were about to undertake. I must have come to terms with the excitement, joy and curiosity that had eclipsed the prospect of travelling to and seeing a new place. Now I trudged warily into the compartment pulling my luggage behind me that suddenly felt heavier than it was. The atmosphere was filled with general excitement, confusion and noises as fellow travellers strove to settle themselves in their respective seats. Trying to shake off negative thoughts I determinedly attempted to blend into the environment. It helped that I had to focus all my attention on finding my seat and keeping my belongings in their allotted places. But as soon as we were all settled the apprehension came back. I said a little prayer this time to keep the worst of my fears at bay; the fear of all the possible things that could go wrong and uncontrollably awry. After a while as the train began moving, Dad struck up a light, humorous conversation that further allayed my anxiety. I did purposefully allow myself a little apprehension though, to prime myself in the face of adversity.

A couple of hours or so into the journey had passed and the cacophonic environment had changed into a slumber haven as we crept into the late hours of the night. To the one still awake the atmosphere could either infuse in one’s heart an eerie loneliness in the midst of a train full of travellers or a peaceful solitude, detached from the stillness of the world outside, together with a few people most of whom as an added advantage had wilfully surrendered to the realm of temporary death. I wished for the latter; to indulge myself in a sense of serenity. But the remnants of my impalpable fear had let the former reign for a good part of my waking hours. I knew my attempts to sleep at this point would be futile. So I just lay on my berth and tried to turn my mental loneliness to my favour. I kept glancing at my cell phone screen that, when network allowed, showed names of new and bizarre-sounding names of places whose reception areas we passed through. I held on to it like a lifeline that connected me to the outside world. Occasionally the cell phone chimed and I would find a message from a friend who seemed to be living in a safe part of the world, not gripped by the vice of uncertainty. Later I would find this thought to be preposterous because my rational mind then would point out the obvious fact that the world of events is a prime representative of perpetual uncertainty. With my heart tipping towards vulnerability, rationale seemed like its least possible aid. Consequently I began thinking about things that had occurred recently. I remembered the day when Dad announced the confirmation of our train tickets. When he added with great flourish that we would be travelling in AC compartment it drew a lot of cheer and relief from everyone except me. I muttered my disapproval over its boxed confinement, its heavily tinted windows with poor or no outside view, the pungent staleness in the supposedly conditioned air and the overall lack of freedom of openness. I expressed my preference for second class compartments. I had to relent owing to the hearty approval of the majority. It was too late anyway to make any changes. The next day, the subject of our much anticipated trip came up once again and Dad announced that our return journey would be in second class compartment. Amid the mini-chaos that followed I was profoundly touched the immense consideration in this small act of his. He had promptly transferred the seat reservations from AC to second class at just the whiff of my half-heartedness. His concern and thoughtfulness overwhelmed me and the feeling was little affected by the hostile vibes of AC cab preferring enthusiasts.

Lying on my berth I smiled as I recalled the incident and my heart lifted a significant bit. The atmosphere started to feel much serene and less lonely. More thoughts and memories came flooding into my mind and I revelled in them. I was amazed at how a mere shift in the state of mind dispelled fears and lifted my spirits. Some amount of wariness still remained but it existed as a persistent by-product of my alertness. I glanced at the heavily tinted window. Even with the poor visibility I imagined a cool, ink-blue, star-studded night with a partial moon struggling to outshine other heavenly entities. The train was moving with a steady speed now. The tell-tale rhythmic sounds of hundreds of wheels turning over gapped metal tracks and the pistons and the engine and the occasional distant blare of the horn created an unprecedented mechanical melody that dipped and soared as the sounds echoed off nearby and far-off valleys, hills, plains and houses. The melody filled me and lulled me and the steady swaying of the cab infused in me a distantly familiar calmness. As I slowly drifted away from consciousness I remembered a familiar deep but gentle voice that crooned age old lullabies and the strong hands that held and cradled me to sleep under the partially moonlit, cool, ink-blue, star-studded night.

As I slept dreamlessly, hours passed and miles were traversed of which I was blissfully unaware. From across the bridge of nothingness a voice called out my name, faintly at first but gaining strength with every call. The voice was same as the one I had remembered as I had drifted off to sleep. It grew louder but not uncomfortably so and as my mind broke through the realm of sleep, I realised someone was gently waking me up. The voice spoke my name again and I slowly opened my eyes, registered the all too familiar face through the early morning gloom and smiled sleepily at my Dad.

The contest VII

2010-08-19T15:50:00.000+05:30

Hello!
The blog contest is back. Show your best on the July edition of the Blog contest.
Cheers!

The shower

2010-07-24T01:13:00.000+05:30

The day hadn’t begun remarkably. All the joy and the positivity that comes along with a brand new day went hurtling out my seventh floor window when I swore loudly as soon as my bleary eyes registered the time on my cell phone screen. I was late. Again. I had to be somewhere important but I had overslept. Again. And so the first word out of my mouth on that brand new day was a curse. And yet I wonder why my day hadn’t begun remarkably. By the time I threw on some clothes and made my face look like it didn’t belong to a constantly oversleeping person, my self admonition had ended and I happened to glance outside the window through which joy and positivity had recently jumped and met their premature deaths.

Patches of threateningly rain-laden clouds were scattered all the way till the horizon but it seemed like they had temporarily let the sun peek from its hiding place. The daunting downpour of the previous night had washed the city thoroughly and it gleamed brightly in places where sunlight had nervously managed to reach.

A glance at my wall clock (that conveniently hung over the window) shattered the rosy description of the outside world and shifted me back to my oh-shit-I’m-late mode. I was about to curse loudly again when Mother called me for breakfast. Ugh! I was too late to even think of breakfast. As I entered the dining hall I saw Mother holding a plate with slices of bread smeared with butter and jam on it. “Eat fast. You’re already late,” she said, like I needed any reminding. I was about to rush of the house when she called again. I turned, only to find her shoving an umbrella into my unsuspecting hands. It looked old, dusty and barely used, rightly indicating my irrational aversion towards umbrellas. Naturally I opened my mouth to retaliate. She gave me one of her stern-mother looks that always made me back down and brought to my mind a picture of a puppy whimpering and retreating with its tail between its legs.

Tapping my foot impatiently on the ground and looking at my wrist watch occasionally like some Big Shot I scanned the sea of infuriatingly slow moving traffic and felt a feral urge to curse again. Oh stop it, dirt-mouth! As if that’s going to help, said a small but firm voice inside me I’d like to call conscience. Its sane, no-nonsense words were still resonating in my mind when I sighted an unoccupied rickshaw approaching me. Without even having the need to flag it down it slowed to a stop right in front of me. The driver was kind enough to only give me an amused smile when I blurted out a thank you for stopping for me and saving my day. As he drove me to my destination I reminded myself I had to visit the library later, a prospect that immediately squished my near hysteria. My lateness was pardoned (yet again!) which further relieved most of my ridiculous tension. By the time I set out to go to the library there was positively a spring in my step.

The grey clouds had gathered over the city again after it seemed fit to them that the sun had shone enough for the day. Consequently they began their promised onslaught as it began pouring heavily; the sound of falling rain reminding me of a large crowd bursting into a hearty laughter all at once. I smiled widely even as I grudgingly opened the old contraption of spring, steel, plastic and nylon (or whatever. No way am I mentioning the name again!). I really didn’t want to end up sopping wet in the library and drip all over the books. As I issued a few books and headed out I saw the rain had no plan of relenting. Humming a tune of no song in particular I walked gleefully on the sidewalk stepping purposefully on the flowing rivulets of rain water that gushed noisily as they ploughed into things on their way and drained into gutters. The black canopy over my head was serving the purpose of keeping the books that I carried fairly dry. Meanwhile I happily splashed my way through the puddles and streams completely wetting my clothes well up to the knees and almost all of my right side. The books were tucked inside my bag that hung for its dear dry life from my left shoulder. I looked around and it was like seeing through a clear silver-grey glass. The usual din of the city was drowned out by the orchestra of raindrops of every size pelting themselves on any exposed surface.

The vibes I felt of the general disapproval, annoyance and impatience were reflected by the scene around me. Pedestrians huddled under their, well, devices they use for ‘protection’ against the rain, skipping and prancing over puddles and streams vainly, while some just hurried along wading through the water (although they had an expression on their faces that looked like they were being forcefully made to swallow something bitter!). Some people had taken shelter under trees or awnings of shops or anything that bore even a slight semblance of a roof. On the whole, everyone around me was doing everything they could to get away from the rain and its wetness while I promenaded on the sidewalk revelling in its freshness. I was so content in my little bubble of joy. By the time I reached home I was dripping and sopping wet from waist down and my sandals were making a squishy sound with every step I took. I giggled giddily like a five year old on a sugar rush and punched the door bell. Mother smiled despite herself as she took in the sight of my silly grin and my crazily flapping wet clothes. Still smiling she let me in and said, “You look quite like a very wet crow, dear.” I chuckled at her comment and opened my mouth to reply but instead gave out a sudden almighty sneeze. Mother burst out laughing and the day was remarkable again.

The contest VI

2010-07-18T18:52:00.000+05:30

Hey people!
June contest is here. Post your best on the Blog Contest.
Take care!

The crumbling bridge

2010-06-28T01:53:00.000+05:30

If misery had a face I’m ready to believe it is smiling smugly right now. It knew all along that I’d inevitably choose to drown in its lightless and hopeless abyss without even putting up a fight to try to get to the surface. Now there just remains a painful wait to finally reach the bottom which, a good part of life has taught me, would never come. I should try to get out of this misery, one might wisely suggest. But the fact that I’d willingly walked into it has made it that much more difficult to get out. Not that I want to. Hopelessness has blinded me and I perceive nothing but a stark gaping void that mocks me with its perpetual presence. Misery has filled the void to its brim like dark waters encroaching dry low lands at the start of imminent floods. And I’ve welcomed the floods.

I had never imagined the lack of physical presence of certain souls would have such staggering consequences. I have no idea for how long I had convinced myself that I’d eventually learn to live with the void before sadly realizing I had been fooling myself.

Life has shifted its wheels to an unfamiliar terrain on which I tread warily. New and unpredictable commitments demand my reluctant attention and mutter disapproval at my attempts to look back at the times when different lives crossed paths regularly and intertwined easily. A few familiar voices assure me, coax me, and encourage me in vain to take things as they come, be grateful and move on. Some of those voices are laced with concern, some with impatience and some with exasperation. But they are all drowned out by the by the incessant, unfamiliar chatter that corrodes the peace of my mind and tests my patience. It is relentless in its purpose to prod and pry. At this point all I want to do is run away to a place where all my problems become redundant. I wish for all these distractions to just vanish forever. I crave for solitude not realizing it has already infested the dark waters of misery. My craving strengthens it as I slide helplessly into the clutches of loneliness. The mindless chatter prevails but it is the least of my problems now. Life goes on like a slow pointless dream as I struggle to conform to the new reality while my mind wanders aimlessly in the hopeful past. My struggle is futile, I’m taking all the wrong turns and misery smiles some more. I’ve inadvertently built for myself a world of cruel irony where loneliness that I’d once so fervently craved for has become the ultimate distraction.

The contest V

2010-06-19T19:48:00.000+05:30

Hey!! The blog contest is here again. Show your best at the Blog Contest site.

Cheers!

The transgression

2010-05-22T11:34:00.001+05:30

Often into memories the soul does wander,

To reflect, reminisce, learn and ponder,

Fickle beliefs and choices on the loose,

Easy to follow and difficult to choose.

Delusional hearts promise to beat forever as one,

Then misunderstand while speaking the same tongue.

Ignorant minds meet, share thoughts and flourish,

Then selfishly fail to remember and cherish.

Life takes falls in fallacious times,

Unsaid apologies, broken promises add to the crimes.

Guilt is ignored; there is fate to blame,

Rather than face the demons and give in to shame.

The soul still wanders with sadness and regret,

With mistakes it can't undo or forgive and forget.

Silently it laments over the passing of each breath,

Searching for peace before the advent of death.

The passing glimpse

2010-05-22T11:17:00.000+05:30

It was indeed strange that I found myself sitting on a stone bench by the side of a road when I came to my senses after what felt like an unintended dose of sleep or a bout of unconsciousness. The mind was momentarily disoriented as I instructed it to gather recent memories. It came up with hazy images that muddled things up a bit more. I gave up and started focusing and my surroundings instead. When I saw the familiar houses and buildings and shops I sighed with overwhelming relief and crossed off “amnesia” and “drugged, kidnapped and dumped in an alley” from my recovering mind. Besides I didn’t think I looked “dumped”. I felt fine and my clothes were in good, almost pristine, condition. The sun was beating down with vengeance but I wasn’t sweating. It was probably because the bench I was sitting on under a gigantic, sprawling banyan tree. My brain was still sifting through memories and it found one that showed myself in the mirror getting ready to head out. So that was how I ended up here, not far from my house and the heat and the seemingly slow moving time of the early afternoon had lulled me to sleep. As if on cue a bus arrived and stopped right in front of me and a couple of men got off it. Automatically I got up and got into the bus, my actions propelled by an indescribable urge to get moving. Since my conscious mind was still meandering in uncertainty, my subconscious had seemed it fit to take over and guide me to my destination.

There weren’t many people in the bus and considering the ungodly tedious hours of the day I could understand why. All the window seats were taken and so I moved to the last row of seats which was currently occupied only by the bus conductor. He was dozing fitfully which struck as slightly odd to me. What if someone got off the bus without paying? Then I saw the helper standing on the footboard of the rear entrance. He had placed a whistle between his lips and was looking out with a bored expression on his face. It wasn’t one of those common sights where young men like him dangled off the footboard. Barely holding onto the poles for support, with the wind hitting their faces and buffeting their hair and clothes wildly. Deciding to pay the helper if ever the conductor failed to wake up before my stop arrived; I settled back in my seat and began gathering my recuperating thoughts. Then the first wave hit me with a shocking force.

It caught me off guard with such intensity that I bolted up from my seat. With nothing to hold on to, I fell back on my seat again but the shock still remained. The wave was not physical, not tangible, not visible. But it might as well have been a solid onslaught of iron blows on my face; such was its effect, its determined presence. It passed as quickly and unpredictably as it had arrived but it left me dazed and wary with a sense of sense of unease and fear settling in like ashes on a burning city. Once I could think steadily I began wondering what it was. I looked around and everything seemed normal enough. The conductor was still dozing fitfully, the young man still stood on the footboard whistling feebly at bus stops. I tried making sense of the event that had occurred, that had taken only for a few seconds. The second wave hit me then, but my wariness had anticipated the uncanny happening this time. As if sensing its inability to catch me off guard the second time the wave rushed towards me with relative slowness and great deliberation. This time the shock came with the realisation of what the wave really was. And this time the wave didn’t recede. A commotion of thoughts, emotions, sounds and feelings that made up this wave had washed over me inexorably. My senses were being drowned and the unwitting culprits behind it were the people in the bus. It dawned on me with sudden and much needed clarity that the feelings, emotions, thoughts and sounds were of the poor unsuspecting souls around me. I’d have laughed with relief if it wasn’t for the simple logical fact that strange things like this never happen in the real world. What was the explanation then? Was I dreaming? Should I pinch myself? Or had I suddenly turned clairvoyant? I quickly dismissed these questioning thoughts as soon as I realised how downright silly they sounded even in my head. I looked around once again, my eyes sweeping over all the people in the bus beginning from the partially obscured driver in the front to the dozing conductor at the back. The effects of the wave still lingered and there was no beginning or end to them. They were in me and around at the same time. They played with my outer senses, tingled every nerve in my body, probed my soul and dared my mind to unravel them. My mind did dare and they all but willingly unravelled. The thoughts and sounds came to me as swirling murmurs and whispers. The feelings and emotions were like shimmering revelations.

I looked at a middle aged man in the first seat of the left row. He prayed for a profit this month. He had worked hard in the garment shop and his third child would be arriving soon in to this world. I sensed his elation, his anxiety, his hopes, and his joy as he thought of his wife and children.

A young woman sat in the first seat of the right hand side row. She wasn't exactly enjoying the bus ride. Maybe she should go to those driving classes like her mother-in-law had suggested. Or take the driving lessons her husband had offered to give. She smiled and blushed at the thought. Six months now. Who would've thought arranged marriages worked out so wonderfully? I felt her disapproval of bus rides, her sweet shyness as she thought of her husband, her prayers thanking God for blessing her with such a nice family.
A teenaged boy was sitting next to his best friend in the third seat. The best friend, a girl his age, wondered if it was okay to have feelings for her best friend. The boy wondered if telling her he loved her would ruin their friendship. I felt their blossoming love, their loyalties towards each other, their fears, their dreams.

A young man in soiled clothes sat in the last row on my right. He thought of life ahead now with his only sister married off. He had spent almost all of his hard earned money on her wedding. He wished for her happiness. He loved her more than his own life. I felt his loneliness, his pain from the bruised knuckles, sun-burnt skin and blistered feet that he got from working at the construction site all day long. I felt his immense love for his sister, his only family.
I saw two young men in the third seat on my left. They had both been recruited by a company at the same time. They had known each other only for a few days now. The one next to the window talked animatedly, with sound effects, about a new video game. He hoped he wasn't boring or annoying his new found friend. But no one else bothered listening to his video game stories. His friend actually listened more out of pity than interest. Sure, he talked a lot. But he was a good guy, kind at heart. His narration of the stories amused him more than the stories themselves. Somehow both knew they were going to be best friends for life. Every person in the bus had a story in their lives, a lesson that could be learnt, an experience that would become a part of my soul for an eternity.

A girl sat alone in the only row of seats beyond the front entrance, on the driver's left hand side. She seemed lost in thoughts as she looked out the window. She didn't have to support her family. She was enjoying the bus ride and she preferred it, although she knew how to drive. She thought she was in love once, but now she knew she wasn't since she had learnt there was a lot to take, lots more to give and even more to understand and sacrifice in love. She had had her share of loneliness and pain that was more emotional than physical. She had many friends, but only a few she really loved and cared for. She seemed content with her thoughts for now and I couldn't feel much from her like I did from the others. She turned then, to look at the conductor it seemed, and I saw her face. Thus began the greatest realisation of all.

I saw her and it was like looking at my reflection. She smiled my smile when she saw the conductor dozing. Someone let out a scream and she frowned just like I always did. She turned around to look ahead. The realisation was crashing on me now. I wanted to yell, reach out, do something! But all I could do was stare helplessly as a monstrous truck, a speeding harbinger of destruction filled up the whole front view before I was wrenched out of the fabric of reality. The wave finally receded as I was pulled into an unknown oblivion. And I finally realised in the fullness of that moment that in the slowness of that day, that life, death had come quickly.

The message

2010-05-19T00:28:00.001+05:30

When I opened my eyes I realised my entire field of vision was filled by an azure sky dotted with almost comical looking white and grey clouds drifting lazily from one end of the field to the other. I was lying on something soft and wonderful and I was comfortable enough to believe that this must be a dream. Such a sense of bliss can never be perceived in reality. I lay there for a long time gazing at the clouds, feeling the cool breeze against my skin. It felt so wonderful; I wanted it all to be real. The breeze felt real enough, so did the sweet smell of grass and the wet earth that washed over me and surrounded me like an exquisite silk blanket. Yet I continued looking straight ahead at the gorgeous blue sky. As time passed, the soft sapphire of the sky began to pale and the ever drifting clouds started acquiring an orange tinge on one side. West, I thought, that side is west. The sun was setting. The blue wasn’t only paling but changing to orange as well. The scent of earth around me became heady and inviting and I finally gave in to my urge to get up and look around. I did so slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the perfect setting and wrench me away from what I had decided was my wilful delusion. I wanted it to last as long as possible. I wish it could last forever; that this was the predestined reality and the world where I had fallen asleep had just been an elaborate dream.

As I looked around the sight that greeted me was an apt representation of all the smells I was breathing in. All around me, at a short distance away were gently swaying trees, their wet leaves dancing gleefully on the branches and sparkling like a million rubies in the dying sun. A stream gurgled nearby but I couldn’t see it since I was sitting in the midst of tall yellowing grass. With every gentle gust of breeze the grass swayed wildly and the tips teased through my hair and tickled my face. I heard faint chirping of crickets and saw a couple of them to hopping and balancing themselves impossibly over the thin blades of the grass. I listened intently to the happy gurgling of the invisible stream trying to ascertain its location and I was suddenly thirsty. I welcomed the feeling since it convinced me some more that I wasn’t dreaming. As I rose slowly to my feet I looked around searching for the stream and I realised that I was in a glade of some sort, with tall yellow grass dominating almost all of the area. The stream was nowhere to be seen but the incessant and inviting sound of flowing water elevated my thirst and urged me to move. I took a couple of steps in the general direction of the sound, my eyes still searching and they caught a sudden movement a few meters ahead slightly to my left.

I stopped and looked harder but whatever had caused the movement was gone. Instead I noticed that the grass ended abruptly to give way to a narrow trail that snaked its way through the grass and disappeared behind the line of trees that marked the boundary of the glade. I began walking again intent on finding the place where the trail began so I could follow it out of the glade. It was hard making my way through the tall grass. My thirst was rising steadily and I wished I could find the trail soon. With every step the sound of flowing stream increased and so did the hope of quenching my thirst. I was still wading through the sea of grass when I heard someone calling my name. The voice was very faint, almost a whisper, but it cut through the wind so cleanly that I wondered if it was all in my head. After all a significant part of my mind insisted that this was all a dream. I looked around turning my head this way and that wildly. I resumed walking, now with renewed determination. The mounting mystery of this place and the sounds and sights were driving me to inexplicable frustration and the only to tackle it was by dousing myself in physical activity.

I was gathering speed now but before I could take any satisfaction from that fact I slipped on a wet patch of mud and fell face-first into the grass. There was a splash and that was when I realised I had finally found the stream. Luckily I had stuck my arms out in front of me as I fell. Now my arms were all wet and muddy. Great. Resisting an urge to curse loudly I pushed myself up with my hands on the ground. My hands slipped and I fell again, this time on my back. I gave up then, sighed and just sat there breathing hard. I wanted to make rude hand signs. Really. But then I realised that gesticulating wildly with my muddy hands would only send flecks of mud flying on my face and clothes. Instead I got on my knees and moved towards the stream. I began washing my hands in the cool, crystal clear water. I let the muddy water flow and was about to dip my hands again to drink from the stream when I saw the reflection of a hand right next to that of my head. I gulped, turned and looked up slowly at the hand and then its owner.

He stood there, with his hand held out, the wind teasing through his hair that glistened coppery brown in the light of the dusk. I could barely see his face but I didn’t need to. Somehow I just knew he was the most beautiful person in the world. The beauty surpassed the mere physical visage. He was a good and kind human being and he cared for me deeply and I just knew these things. I felt them and their truth rang through my existence. He smiled at me then and although I couldn’t see his face, I felt his smile, the warmth and the genuineness that came along with it. Here, let me help you, he said and again it was that faint voice. Yet, the words were clear. They sounded deep within my mind and yet it felt like they surrounding me from the outside. The voice itself was magically sweet, warm and reassuring. I slipped my wet hand into his outstretched one. He barely applied strength but I lifted up as if I were made of feather. Once I was on my feet I felt the wet mud rise up between my toes. I looked down and found that he was barefoot too. I looked at his face again. I still couldn’t see it but it didn’t bother me. I knew all about it and I was content with just staring at it.

I’ll find you a way home, he said and the words sounded like they had been made up by the wind that was gently blowing all around us. Still holding my hand he stood beside me and took a step forward. I did too and we began walking along the bank of the stream. I continued looking at him like my life depended on it. He was looking straight ahead and after a few moments I felt his smile again. You are not thirsty anymore, he said. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. I felt I should say something but I suddenly realised that I was indeed not thirsty anymore. I didn’t bother myself with trivial questions like ‘how did he know about my thirst?’ or that it had disappeared. I couldn’t care less. He was with me and nothing else mattered. We walked a little more and soon came to the trail hidden between the grasses. We were moving away from the trees, deeper into the glade, with the sun breathing its last for the day behind us. By this time I realised I should probably stop staring at him like a dazzled damsel. I concentrated instead on the trail twisting and turning in front of us. He spoke again and this time his voice seeped into every fibre of my being and reflected on every living creature around us.

In this land of mystery and all possibilities we will depart, maybe never to meet again. The fortune of our paths crossing is immense and rare and you must not entertain disappointment in the event of our separation. I will meet you again, but in another land, much far from this one, with as much mystery and fewer possibilities. You will not see me there the way you see me now. However you may feel all that you are feeling right now and, unlike in this land, in the other one that feeling will come with lots of lessons, experiences and cherishable memories. I cannot tell how long it will take you to find me. It is neither in my hands nor in yours to preordain the duration. But know this, my dearest. The one person who will capture your heart, stay in it, share your life, sorrows, joys, thoughts and promise you unconditional care and support without saying any words, in that person’s heart you will find me and in his face you will see your world.

With those final words he turned to face me and I felt his yearning to find me again in that distant land he had spoken of. Then, as if to finally reveal his identity he began turning towards the fading light of the sun. That was when I woke up.

The contest IV

2010-05-15T09:41:00.000+05:30

Hey bloggers,

The April Contest is here! Post your best post to The Blog Contest.

Cheers!

The baring

2010-04-30T00:31:00.000+05:30

Come night and the deafening silence instills in me

A loneliness I believe only you can dispel

Like the lone moon I am, dimming until dawn, bleak and grey

Like a star I become, with you beside me, never alone, delightfully sparkling away

Hush my love, the seas have calmed at last

The tempest has abated, your worries are now things of the past

The pain has faded, your heart is now undone

Bare your mind and our thoughts will set sail as one

A conscious riot of battling words define my waking hours

People are a blur as life surges ahead alongside daylight

Dusk arrives with the promised slowness that finally lays thoughts bare

Until darkness beckons and I surrender blissfully to the night

She had walked inadvertently into the haze of his mind

Uncertainty plagued her and there was no night and day

But his heart did turn to her leaving qualms far behind

Illuminating his famished soul and lighting her way

Through the mist they saw each other and he finally found himself

Their thoughts unravelled relentlessly and all barriers were slain

A world they build where inevitably met and dwelt

Where hearts opened up and they fell in love all over again

The contest III

2010-04-13T22:44:00.000+05:30

Hello bloggers!! Another fine opportunity to display your creative talent. Do enter the Blog Contest.

Cheers!!

The prayer

2010-03-18T22:44:00.000+05:30

I prayed fervently today. I experienced one of those moments when all kinds of bad thoughts come to my mind about people I care about the most, the people I cannot do without. And as I prayed, I realised, with much shame, as to how ungrateful I am to God and how I take things for granted when they are going about nicely and uneventfully; how my prayers lack conviction and dedication when these special people are blending in happily and giving meaning to my life. Yet, I prayed, for I wanted God to banish all these black thoughts from my mind and give me strength so that I never dwell further in any of them. They began to dissipate then, like shadows under the advent of light, through the recesses of my mind. But they did so slowly and painfully, rightly reminding me of my reckless impudence. I was strangely sapped of all the strength, both physically and mentally and still there were vestiges of fear and self-doubt meandering in my heart. But I didn’t care. All I wanted was the prayers, that desperately asked for protection, forgiveness and happiness to those people I love, to be heard. I was humbled by the unconditional gifts He has given me in the form of such marvellous individuals. I was gripped with selfish terror of how shattered by life would become if, God forbid, something awful happened to any of them. And so, I prayed. I made no promises but I asked for guidance to help me remember Him and thank Him for everything, especially for blessing me with the dearest people I could ever wish for. I thought of their smiling faces and every little moment that I had the privilege of sharing with them. The bad thought s faded into an unknown oblivion taking the last of vestiges along with them. I lay there exhausted but thankful and suddenly an inexplicable wave of merciful relief washed over me like a sweet scented breeze just before the first rain. And then I cried...

The declaration

2010-03-13T22:51:00.000+05:30

A treasure of memories that would never fade away

Of days I laughed with you and cried while you wiped tears and it was okay

Of nights I spent silently praying begging God to make you stay

Of times we talked about thoughts and dreams until there was nothing left to say

I don’t have many eloquent words like the noble poets of yore

To describe all that I feel in embellished phrases and more

My feelings were lost in a tempest of uncertainty before

And you shone your beacon until they washed up safely ashore

I’m smitten by the idea of you in my life

Your mere presence in this world of struggle and strife

Your assurance in my heart, your helping hand by my side

I’m smitten by your lasting courage when sometimes hope died

With you everyday is an adventure about to start

Every thought is an epiphany, every action is an art

Every fault is a lesson; they all set you apart

Every soul stirring word inspires me, lingers perpetually in my heart

My love for you is silent but it would never begin to end

Some say its fate is pain and sorrow, some say it’s a foolish trend

Yet my heart is selfless, to such incredulity it would never bend

Let all of the world lament, for my love is blessed with a fierce friend

The dedication

2010-03-13T18:49:00.000+05:30

The Girl By The Window...

The cool night air blew very gently, its presence made perceptible by the lazily swaying leaves on the rows of trees that stood on either sides of the road. A lone dark figure stood under the wide canopy of the trees, resolutely still, almost blending into the night, although a few stray shafts of moonlight fell on the unmoving shape and gave away its incongruity. It started moving then, not along the road but away from it, away from the shelter of the trees into the open space on the right side of the road. The dark figure, now bathed completely in moonlight was dark no more, revealing a disarmingly handsome young man.

He moved swiftly across the open field, almost gliding over the soft untended grass, his steps barely disturbing anything that came in their way. He had never ventured this far into the field before. For him to be in the open for this long and hence exposed without the shelter of the canopied road and the woods beyond was highly unusual and fraught with risks. But tonight his intentions too were very unusual and worth every possible risk. The field ended abruptly with a sturdy concrete fence topped with barbed wire mesh. The fence actually belonged to an old two-storey brick house and covered the entire perimeter of the property except for an imposing wrought iron gate that occupied a part of one of the edges of the fence. The house marked the beginning of a small sparse civilisation that became more prominent as one moved further, away from the woods. The young man however stood next to the barb-wired fence gazing up at the brick house uncaring of the rest of the civilisation in that area or the world for that matter. He was still exposed but least bit worried about being seen since he was sure he wasn’t. He took a step towards the fence and then hesitated. For the first time in a very long time he was plagued by an inert uncertainty. Like the others that had preceded this feeling he wanted to ponder over it. But now was not the time. Besides, this uncertainty was, unlike the others, less persistent and least bit daunting. It was no consolation though. They had become recurrent, these sensations, intangible manifestations that left him brooding for hours with no significant success of coming up with explanations. They arose deep within his perpetual and carnal coldness; his inherent, prevailing and tangible coldness. They questioned his frigid resolve and he was at a loss for answers. They washed over him like unpredictable waves and left him helplessly drenched. It took him a while to accept the inevitable and give in.

He gazed particularly at a lone open window of the upper storey on his side of the house. A soft yellow light emanated from between the curtains that obscured most of the window. A whirlwind of thoughts still dominated his mind. He thought of how easily he had been relinquishing his cold demeanour and inner rigidity and surrendering to the unexplained, all-pervading warmth, lately. How uncomplicated, how much better this surrender was. The sight of the dimly glowing window only fuelled his strange resolution that had so successfully conquered him tonight. All hesitation, reservation and stray misgivings forgotten, the young man bent his knees slightly. With surreal grace and agility he jumped straight up in the air, high over the fence, up till he reached the window level and then landed lightly on the thin strip of ledge that stuck out of the wall just below the window. He crouched on one corner of the ledge so that the shadow fell on the wall and not inside the window. He was still for a while, listening. The breeze gained some strength and fluttered the curtains opening them up a bit wider. The moon was hidden by a stray cloud for a while blanketing everything with momentary darkness. The cloud then drifted away and the moonlight fell upon the house, the curtains and found its way through the gap into the dimly lit room. The silvery white light fell on things closest to the window inside the room. One corner of a purple rug, a pair of white fluffy bunny slippers and finally the bed on which lay the reason why the young man had broken the pattern, broken the unwritten rules, forgone caution and reason and was crouching on the thin ledge listening to the slow breathing and the rhythmic beating of the heart. So strange, yet so familiar were those musical sounds of life. A warm life, a mortal life, a life that belonged to this beautiful creature curled up on the bed.

She looked serene and peaceful in her sleep, her dark lustrous hair curling every which way, entangled and tousled. He gazed at the face he had seen so many times in the past few weeks and yet it gave rise to a surge of warm sensations as if he were seeing this beautiful human for the first time in his life. Her features weren’t the most perfect; he had seen far more beautiful and perfect faces before. Yet, none of them had broken through his coldness so powerfully without even trying. For him she was exquisite. He had witnessed a lot of expressions playing across her face before. She enthralled and intrigued him. That one night he had ventured to the edge of the field near the canopied road had changed things more than he had expected. It was late yet she had stood by the window, staring into the moonlit night not unlike this one. He had just glanced in her direction fleetingly and gone back to his meticulous way of closing in on his sighted prey. Her face, then displaying an unfathomable sadness, had sprung up before his eyes while he was trying to concentrate on his prey’s furtive movements. Distracted and vaguely irritated he had turned to look at her again just in time to see a single tear sliding down her cheek, sparkling in the moonlight. The prey was instantly forgotten. His visits to the edge of the field had become frequent after that. He stayed at the edge each time but he could see her clearly whenever she came near the window. Each time her face captivated him. Sometimes it was riveted as she sat next to the window and read novels (many a times The Twilight Saga, Vampire Diaries... how ironic...), sometimes anxious as she pored over text books, her lips mouthing words soundlessly, sometimes joyous as her melodious laughter rang out when she talked over the phone twisting a stray curl absently with her finger, sometimes relaxed as she listened to her favourite songs and sometimes wistful as she gazed at the stars and sighed thinking of her mysterious wishes that he would give anything to know and do whatever he could to fulfil them.

He continued gazing at her face, her curling lashes, her small nose, the curve of her cheeks, her majestic chin and the slight smile on her soft lips. He breathed in then and along with the faint homely smell of her room there came the smell of lavenders, roses, her hair and the heady sweet human scent tinged with the unmistakable metallic hint of warm flowing blood. He revelled in it as it added to her extraordinary inner and outer beauty. The moonlight was casting an ethereal glow on her skin but she seemed to glow with innocence and goodness from the inside. He wanted to give this lovely girl a name. He had heard other people in the house call her name a couple of times. The voices were muffled and from the distance he had heard only a part of her name. Her true name could be anything; Elizabeth, Elise, Lizzy, Eloise... but the partly discernable name he had heard sounded perfect for her. He decided then that that was what he would call her. Not loudly, but in his heart and mind, whenever he remembered her, because he wanted to keep her memory afresh even though her body would eventually grow frail and wither away. He wanted the name for this fascinating girl with so many expressions, thoughts, hopes and dreams. He wanted the name as it would remind him of the precious and fragile humanity that he possessed before he was mercilessly plunged into perpetual coldness. He wanted the name that gave way to that strange warmth which won over his frigidity. Sitting on the ledge he smiled too, mimicking her and marvelled at the intensity behind the simple expression. He continued looking at her, breathing deeply again, absorbed in her beauty while Liza slept on...

The contest II

2010-03-12T09:55:00.000+05:30

Hello there! Entering the Blog Contest was truly an amazing experience. I didn't win but it wasn't about winning as much as it was about seeing my blog post among so many prodigiously creative blog posts. What an incredible boost! I personally encourage all the bloggers to enter The Blog Contest. It's truly worth a shot. Click on the link to enter.

Cheers!

The pleasant surprise

2010-03-11T21:35:00.000+05:30

I’ve a compulsive habit of observing and analysing people, mostly the ones I get to see often. The best place to do this, the ideal place rather, is on a bus. I take enough pride in saying that most of my observations on my fellow travellers are very close to being accurate. Yet, certain people have surprised me in unexpected ways occasionally. One such person is a college girl who travels everyday in my bus. The first time I saw her, the words that came to my mind were ‘small, timid, frail, quiet, shy, sweet...’ I then wondered how she managed being a medical student. She looked like she’d swoon over a paper cut. The big fat medical books that she carried barely let her climb the steps of the bus. Whenever she sat beside me I had enough space on the seat to keep my bag beside me. Well, you get the picture. One fine morning in the bus she surprised me good. I was awed. My manner of looking at her with kind pitiful eyes changed to that with respectful admiration-filled ones. She was carrying an umbrella along with the usual stack of bulky medical text books. Her journey from the bus entrance till the seat next to me was one filled with precarious and unsure footsteps. She flopped down beside me and sighed and I hoped my sigh of relief wasn’t very audible. I resumed minding my own business of staring out the window and somewhere along the way she got busy with her cell phone. I realised it when she started speaking to someone over it. I had no problem with not eavesdropping since she spoke in a soft voice, thus tipping my observations of her towards accurate.

There is another person who also travels by the same bus everyday. Many words come to my mind when I look at him too of which the politest are self conceited perverted midget. I’ve refrained myself from observing him since he himself has the habit of looking around curiously, especially at the female faction. He could perceive my observation of him as a sign of reciprocation that could further lead to wrong (involuntary shudders inducing) conclusions. I’ve not heard his voice either since he has not thankfully come close enough for me to hear it. That morning I looked in the general direction of the bus entrance long enough to know he’d got in. Then I went back to my looking-out-the-window-but-not-actually-seeing-anything routine. The girl next to me talked away on the phone softly. There came a bus stop where there’s a considerably more influx of passengers compared to other stops. So the bus stops there for a few minutes. It was the midget’s stop to get down. I guess he dozed off; I’m not sure and I didn’t care. He was sitting somewhere behind us. Anyway, that day he didn’t realise he had to get down until the bus started to move again. When it did he scrambled hurriedly towards the front entrance. He could have taken the back one but unfortunately (for him) he didn’t. The girl still talked away, oblivious. In a hurry to get to the entrance he ignored the poles that people use to keep them from falling in a moving bus. Seeing him run, the bus conductor realised that he meant to get down. He whistled, the driver hit the brakes, the bus lurched slightly. Now, I can’t say if it was an accident or if the midget was perverse opportunist extraordinaire. On his way to the front entrance he stepped to his right where the ladies’ seat were, scrambled onwards and brushed against the side of the girl next to me. What happened after that keeps playing in my mind in ultra slow motion over and over again. I’m sure it didn’t even last for a second. After brushing against her the midget kept moving ahead aided by the momentum and partly due to the inertia caused by the sudden braking of the bus (er... pardon the technicality). The girl, however, until then talking in barely over a whisper, whipped up her umbrella in her left hand and swung it hard against the front of the midget who’d committed the atrocity of brushing against her. Whack! Her reflexes were amazing! The time between the contact of his arm to her side and the resounding whack was less than a millisecond. The phone was still in her right hand. I’d seen the guy come up from behind from the corner of my eye. By the time I’d reacted and turned my head fully to my left, the brushing, the whipping up of umbrella and the swinging was already over. My head turned towards the scene just in time to see the full fledged whack! I was stunned. And I wasn’t the only one. Many other people in the bus witnessed the incredible incident that had lasted for one whole second. The midget was swung sideways by the force but the momentum kept him moving towards the entrance. He stumbled once over his own foot, but maintained his balance and almost flew out of the entrance. It looked like he was fleeing for an instant. And in that instant I thought that was the wisest thing he’d ever done. Stick around for one more second and you’ll get another whack, I thought. Serves him right! I was elated, pumped with girl-power confidence. I wanted to thump the girl on her back and say “you go, girl!” Frail, timid, shy my ass! More like: calm until you mess with me, then, I’m Xena and I’ll make you regret. Still grinning I turned to look at my new hero (or heroine)...

Only to see her talking on the phone in that soft voice again, the umbrella back on her lap, smiling faintly as if nothing at all had happened. My grin was gone, wiped away. I looked at her for a second or two. Then I turned away and looked out the window, a faint smile spreading on my own face.

The contest

2010-02-11T18:16:00.000+05:30

Hey people! I've come to know of THE BLOG CONTEST from a friend's blog. It's been organised by The Colors Magazine. You've to submit your best blog entry that you made in the month of January and submit it according to the simple procedure that is mentioned in the site. For exact details just click on the link. I hope you all take part in it. It'll be fun! :)

The unforgettable

2010-02-05T20:01:00.000+05:30

ONCE UPON A NIGHT…

A cool ethereal beautifully pleasant night

Calls me to its irresistible velvety embrace

The lone, yet mighty, moon reflects serene light

Casting a silvery glow on my face

Under the moonlit, cloudless, starless sky

Everything seems to be so quiet and calm

Only the night-birds hurriedly fly by

Their silver wings weaving through silvery charm

A soothing wind blows, Oh! So gently

Afraid even to rustle leaves that greet its way

As if, in its stealth, it is listening intently

To what this particular silent night has to say

I close my eyes and savour this breeze

That caresses my skin and teases through my hair

Undaunted by darkness, unhindered by trees

Regardless of the moon that still shines on with flair

As the minutes and hours melt into this enigmatic night

And the blackest shadows get bathed in a silver haze

The darkest of corners are rendered bright

The sinister figures diminish as if in a daze

Witnessing this sight my soul is comforted

As the wonders of the night never intend to cease

Soon, day will arrive, reminding decisions regretted

For now, nonetheless, I’m strangely wonderfully at peace

The Incorrigible Smart Card

2010-01-31T22:21:00.001+05:30

What the hell is their problem? Smart cards?! I’m on the verge of freeing myself from this godforsaken place; a matter of a mere few months. What on earth am I going to do with a “smart card”? Frame it and hang it on my bedroom wall? And strip the wall bare of everything else, even the paint, because now I’m going to have the oh-so-awesomely-cool smart card on it. I mean, of what use will it be to me anyway after I leave this screwed up college? All year we’ve been requesting for better food in the canteen and, quite recently, an academic subject of our choice (since that’s the whole point of having ELECTIVE subjects). We’ve begged for mirrors in the restroom for crying out loud!! But nooooo!! Who cares if a few hundred students are writhing in pain because of food poisoning or if your future is bright enough with the detailed knowledge about milking cows (that was pretty much the main content of our ‘elective subject’)? All that matters is that now you can strut around with the stupid smart card stuck to your forehead. It’s the ULTIMATE solution to every problem you’ve every faced or going to. Why? Because now you can check attendance status and find out your internal marks with the help of the incredible smart card. Ooooo...!!! let my best friend, who’s puking her guts out because she had canteen food, go to hell for I’m on my way to salvation with the sacred knowledge of my divine internal marks.

The Deterioration

2010-01-31T19:31:00.000+05:30

This place with all its power and bounty was given to the human kind. We lived up to our sentient quality by exploiting it and creating a world where one has to hunt lest he becomes the hunted, or tumbles unless he brings his own down and finally when he thinks he has gained success he has lost himself. This ruthless world is his own creation and he is now struggling, repenting, regretting, and trying desperately to find a way out. Evil and material power comes easy to him and he cowers behind their merciless prowess.

The deceitful and cunning are the ones who are the most afraid; people who use the evil facade and thrive by holding onto their paranoia.

The weak hearted are the ones who have realised their purpose, have separated good from evil but do not have the will to stand up to any kind of tyranny. They simply fade away under the sheer number and power of the ruthless rulers.

And the lost are the ones who have realised that any evil can be beaten by their faith, morality, virtues, patience and hope, but they also know that they were too late. They are the wise ones who weren’t wise enough. Humanity has been clobbered to death by humans and the wise have lost themselves in this irony.

The ramifications of an addled mind.

2010-01-12T22:15:00.000+05:30

It’s absurd to see how man has evolved from one civilisation to the other throughout the centuries, kept the world running on an instilled philosophy, among many others, of never giving up; of striving hard until a goal is reached. A lot of success, achievement and a drive to move onward in the most trying of situations that demand for extreme adaptabilities have been possible due to the implementation of this deep rooted philosophy. It has made human beings live up to their uniqueness of being the only ingenious species in the world, possibly the whole universe. But sometimes one wonders if this never-giving-up trait of man is the only solution to grab whatever he desires but is just out of his reach. The seemingly undauntable concept does prevail because of the existence of its opposite, doesn’t it? Just as there’s good because there’s evil. It exists as an alternate option that a person can wilfully choose. Yet, that choice is always his last resort and in some instances he doesn’t allow any ground for that choice at all. In general he would resort to it only after a long, painful struggle that leaves him with nothing instead of getting him what he wanted. I wonder, then, what would happen if we could just give up once in a while...

I know this feeling; the feeling of desolation, hopelessness and sorrow. The feeling when you’re desperately trying to find answers in the intricate maze of mind and end up running into blank walls, dead ends, every time. And the fact that this feeling is so familiar makes it even more painful to bear, more tangible, more lasting. I find it easy to succumb to it, drown in agony, and lose myself never to be found again. The pain it inflicts on my heart, mind and soul is enormous, worse than the worst battering a body can take and still continue to breathe. For the physical torture could eventually stop and the body could slowly heal or it could all end in a blissful darkness of death. This feeling, however, would never cease to exist and it would never allow any other feeling to prevail. It feeds on my strengths and thrives with my weaknesses. It makes me surrender to it readily lest I resort to the path of self destruction.

The night journey of 9th december, 2009

2009-12-25T23:41:00.000+05:30

2141 hours. The long winding road stretches endlessly. I look out my window and witness the scenes unfolding on one side of the road. The night is cool, dry and silent. There are no streetlights and I’m certain that this part of the world has neither seen any kind of technology nor will it any sooner. The roads are full of potholes: a result of what looks like long neglect or half-hearted attempts to make them traversable by journey-by-night trucks, long-travelling buses and the occasional smaller vehicles. The road snakes its way through hills and rugged plains that were long ago wounded, blasted away and razed to a level ground in order to lay down long, black and tar reptilian routes. Now, with their holes, humps and bumps and tortures surfaces they seem overwhelmed by the plethora of still untouched nature on either sides. The trees, plants and vines closest to the road are caked with mud and dust and look sinister and ghostly, illuminated only by the car headlights. Apart from the trees and vines, there are walls of sliced up earth where I can see dead roots of mighty trees thrusting out of the mud in the most bizarre angles, whose lives were cruelly cut short when great elaborate machines sliced away the earth. Undisturbed, these roots would have spread far and wide below the earth to their full glory. Now these skeletal roots with their dead trees lie grotesquely displaying a gory image of man’s activities. Now and again the headlights sweep over breaks in the seemingly infinite train of jutting vines and looming trees. Dark gorges and foreboding chasms, carved out by waterfalls that had gushed, gurgled and teemed with life and there was lush greenery and heavy water laden clouds to complete the picture, now lie painfully bare with only memories of lively springs and ghosts of tiny streams trickling down the slick and mossy rock faces. We move ahead seemingly uncaring: our car whipping up dust clouds and adding another layer of dirt on the trees by the side of the road. I gaze listlessly at the milestones and my mind vaguely registers the changing figures under the names of places known and unknown; each stone showing a couple or three miles swallowed up by our robotic, indifferent, relentless need to move onwards. I lie inside the car but my thoughts run amok, treading the perpetuity of nature. Sometimes they fade to a blur like the ground below, sometimes they surface and make their presence felt like the stars suddenly appearing through stray clouds and silhouetted canopy, sometimes meandering warily like our precarious journey on these serpentine roads to imminent destination and finally merging with the mysterious shadows and overwhelming darkness beyond the reach of the meagre headlights. After attempting vainly to bridle my thoughts, I sigh and resume gazing out my window, at the mourning forests and at the long winding road that stretches endlessly...

The nostalgia

2009-12-03T18:46:00.000+05:30

12 years ago I was about 10 years old; young, innocent and carefree.

Things were blissfully simpler and the most worrisome problem was my little sister getting a bigger share of chocolates and sweets because she was “just a baby”.

The 6 year old rascal was my arch enemy.

The pinnacle of humiliation was my own sister calling me by name without a trace of respect.

The thing that shortened my 8-hour sleep to 7-hours was the frightening possibility of getting 9 out of 10 marks in my Kannada dictation.

I was a content soul and ignorance was my prerogative.

The most delightful idea of fun was playing hopscotch with all the neighbourhood girls who were more or less of my age. It meant I could leave my cheat of a sister at home and not worry about her going to Mother bawling, when I don’t let her have her way in hopscotch.

I used to experience a feeling of warm humility when those girls looked up to me to take any decisions and solve any complicated problem that we faced regarding a particular hopscotch rule.

My heart used to soar with joy whenever I realised we were not getting on the city bus to the boring market but the express one that would take us to Mangalore, the enormous city of wonders.

I adored the sly smile on Father’s face when this trick of his worked every time before we got on that express bus.

I used to do my chores with great enthusiasm when guests were to come over. With great effort and concentration I used to make myself presentable for the guests and wait for their arrival with barely contained excitement.

On my 10^th birthday I glided around in my new dress proudly showing it off to the monotonous crowd of the apparently awestruck students in uniforms. Wearing “colour dress” on your birthday was an accepted rule then.

Whenever I fell and scraped my knees badly, it was heartening to see almost all of my classmates running around to get cotton, gauze and Dettol, even when I knew what would follow were a couple of painful stings.

The bitterest fights were over getting window seat in the school van.

The momentous day was when Mother told me she had a baby in her tummy and soon I’d have a tiny baby brother or sister.

The most mind boggling challenge was choosing a name when, eventually, my little baby sister was born.

The biggest dilemma I faced was when I was dying to hold her, yet didn’t want to; afraid I would hurt her soft fragile body.

I first felt cheap thrill when Mother admonished my rogue sister one day, to be more considerate towards our little sister as she was “just a baby”!

The distraction (excerpt from the not-very-highly-acclaimed "The Mental & the Mundane" series)

2009-11-25T14:29:00.000+05:30

I felt the first pang of hunger when my lecturer said "Kitchen". I don't know why he said that and in what context but it was enough to remind me that my meager breakfast was almost 3 hours old. I was keeping up a good pretense of listening to each and every word of my lecturer's jargon with rapt attention when, in reality, all of those words were taking detours way around my head. That is, until he mentioned kitchen. My brain somehow managed to register that one word while it effortlessly ignored everything that came before and after it. Once my stomach brought to my brain's attention, its profound emptiness, it decided to go for a full-fledged attack. Similar to a furious war-cry that precedes a bloody battle, my stomach growled wildly much to my embarrassment and increasing discomfort. Within five minutes from the moment my lecturer uttered the godforsaken word, I was ravenous with enough energy to attack any type of food with the enthusiasm of a ferocious pack of hungry wolves.

The night of 20th May, 2009

2009-11-16T22:26:00.002+05:30

2.12 A.M and still the sleep won’t come. The deficient slumber has driven my mind to paranoia. All is still in this tiny room of mine that I rather reluctantly share with my sister. As I write this, I curl myself up trying to make myself as insignificant as possible at the corner of my bed. Through my unsettled and unexplained fear that has been tugging at the brink of my sanity, I desperately hope that whatever is out there - an unknown entity of some kind - doesn’t breach the sanctity of this humble abode with its dark reaches. The fear is steadily growing now, tightening its icy grip over my heart and making its way slowly and surely to my mind. In the distant thunder rumbles and through the windows that dominate the wall beside my bed I see the flashes of lightening bathing the world around me momentarily with its brilliance. This happens in a random profusion. The rain has been falling for hours now but the rumblings and flashes in the sky seemed to have gained strength, as if they had been biding their time, until now. Lightening, with an ability to disorient its watchers, precedes loud thunder claps that have now become sudden and vigorous and frighteningly close. This startles me, adding to my growing discomfort. As if sensing my uneasiness the rain has abandoned its steady, comforting, almost lulling pattering against the windows and has resorted to an uneven pattern; one moment silencing itself to a whisper of a light drizzle and in the next coming down hard and purposefully on the wet earth and everything over it. Yet my senses are riveted by this amazing display of nature. I feel humbled in front of this awesome, frightening power which never, for a moment, fails to remind me how insignificant and vulnerable I am. This unsteady, haphazard, disconcerting sequence of rain, sound and light continues undauntedly and I begin to wonder if nature has some fantastical sense of grim levity that it uses its prowess in such ways to show the meek, unsuspecting humans their place.

2.41 A.M and sleep is elusive as ever. My body is protesting for rest but my mind is playing a remorseless vagabond. To prove its point, it has set my imagination free into the wilderness. Apart from the nature’s cacophony outside, everything is silent and still. No sign of activity or sound can I sense from the civilization around me. The power cut in the city still continues and as far as I can see everything on both sides of my window-dominated wall is covered in night. The senseless fear that had begun as a disturbing uncertainty is beginning to spread its black and cold tendrils, wrapping itself around my mind. My mind is repulsed by this illogical primeval instinct and a fresh wave of anger washes over me giving a strange but welcome support to my teetering sanity. My terror, however, refuses to give up its dominion over my heart that is ramming against my ribs. My sister lies peacefully on her bed shrouded in darkness oblivious to everything including my sanity warring against my feral terror. I envy her and all the beings asleep, lost in the worlds present only in their subconscious minds while I lie here, with a measly source of light barely illuminating this book, cowering under the conscious reality. The room tends to become hot and stifling and so, one of the windows is slightly left open to lure some blessed air in. There is not much success though, with only an occasional light breeze making its way through the crack, bringing with it the smell of wet earth and ozone tinged with the unmistakable reek of a polluted city. The air also blows against the curtains and their movement, caught by the corner of my eye, sends fresh waves of unadulterated terror coursing through my body. The relief that I get once I realize the real culprit – the breeze, is not at all enough to squelch the overwhelming terror that preceded it. As I hope against hope and wait patiently for the slumber to take over, I glance outside; afraid that anything more than a glance will shatter my resolve and fixate me on the unfolding wonderment of rain, lightening and thunder. But a glance is enough for me to register that the mighty old trees sprinkled all over the city have started swaying. The gentle breeze has picked up speed turning into gusts of wind that whips through the drenched night and rattles the window panes. Not unlike the rain and the thunder, the wind blows haltingly, unsure of its path but surging ahead with determination and impatience. It presses and slaps against my window with sudden bursts, rattling the panes and scaring the living daylights out of me in the process. To make its presence even more pronounced the wind develops a haunting howl, fuelling my fear. The howling is incessant, the sound rising and falling in an unpredictable patterns mixing with the angry rumblings of the night sky. My imaginations takes wild turns and brings to my mind’s eye a vivid picture of an unearthly, savage creature. Outside, the howling reaches a high, frightening crescendo and my out-of-control imagination mercilessly associates the feral sound to my immaterial savage fiend; an enraged cry mingled with pain since the creature is injured and incensed beyond the limits of natural instincts. Its next prey has its fate sealed and it will suffer something worse than death. In the corner of my bed I strive desperately to shut my mind’s eye and the effort makes me shudder involuntarily. For the thousandth time I will myself to sleep; with no success of course. Abruptly, the grim horror symphony of nature stops and I’m jolted by the sudden silence from my curled up position to an upright one. For an unknown length of this strained silence nothing stirs, not even a faint whisper of breeze. Vaguely I realize I’ve stopped breathing, not wanting to break the silence. A sudden noise behind me: like a rustle of fabric that sounds unnaturally loud in the unnerving silence. I whip around on my bed in search of the source in the darkness, only to regret the act terribly later. As soon as I drag my gaze away from the window to look behind me, a flash of lightening lights up the sky and everything beneath it with a brilliance surpassing every flash that had preceded it. My room is illuminated by the light and everything in it appears grotesque, the shadows dancing, terrifying. Undoubtedly, my on-the-loose imagination perceives the scene before me with a staggering exaggeration. It all lasts for only a moment but in that minuscule point of time the last vestiges of courage that had resulted from the anger over my senseless horror, take leave of me. I exhale explosively and clamp my mouth tightly shut to keep myself from screaming. On cue with the lightening comes the imminent clap of thunder, much more loudly than it actually is on my sense of hearing that has been rendered overly keen by my fear. Unlike the light the sound persists for long excruciating seconds rattling my bones and battering against the earth until I feel the bed vibrating under me. My mind finally surrenders to the bout of fear joining in defeat with my beaten heart. Fear takes over everything boldly as if it was confident from the start that it was going to triumph anyway. It eclipses over my senses, its shadow numbing every taut muscle and every frayed nerve in my body. Incredibly I wonder why I hadn’t surrendered myself- heart and mind- to this nothingness earlier, before my consciousness was bludgeoned. I sink deeper; effortlessly into the fear, - was it fear? – the incoherency, the numbness and the darkness. The blessed darkness...

The beginner

2009-11-16T21:38:00.000+05:30

As a first-time blogger I'm clueless about a lot of things. Starting with what on earth exactly I'm supposed to type. I'm also just beginning to get around these formalities I've to comply to before I can even start typing anything. I write a lot. "A lot" can't even begin to describe how much I write and how diligently I love writing. I've been loyal to the old pen and paper when it came to giving an outlet to my plethora of thoughts, opinions and my vivid imagination. Until now. After a lot of thinking and brooding over the potential consequences and a bit of incessant nagging from some external factors, I've finally decided to start this blog. I don't know what I'm going to post particularly or whether I'm going to post on a daily basis. A lot of my writing has been a result of intense inspirations that leave me scrambling for some blissful distraction(e.g. an extremely boring lecture). All in all, I just hope the readers like reading my blog at least half as much as I like writing them.