It has been a long time since I wrote something. I don't have a flair for writing, so if someone does read this please forgive my inexperience. I felt I needed to speak to someone before I left and somehow now I feel I cannot really speak to anyone. The past year has been particularly lonely. They tore down the houses behind and now they are replacing them with an office building. They did the same with the houses on the side a few years back. I had acquaintances there. They were not friends or people I knew but they were familiar. We exchanged pleasantries and always met with a smile. Now I am alone in a crowd.
Back in the days, the house was noisy. I remember shouting at the kids for a moment's peace so I could finish my work. Neetu would then push them out. They have now pushed themselves away. I have my peace today. Now I don't really know what to wish for. I truly do pity those who get all their wishes. That must be truly hell. I haven't spoken to the kids in a while too. They are busy with their lives and their families. My parents died in an accident soon after my marriage but I am quite sure with how I was juggling my work and the sudden responsibilities, they would have been pushed away. But then again my mother always wanted to help. I remember how difficult it was to see them struggle with the TV yet so easily they connected with people around.
I used to laugh when my parents struggled with the technology. Me being a mechanic in the initial days made me the smarter one in the family. Now my grandson laughs when I cant message on the phone. He must have grown a lot since I last saw him. Maybe he could teach me how to use the computer. I have lived in this city long enough. Moving from the village to here had been such a revelation yet I wish to go back. Somehow I know that wish would also turn into a curse. I know no one there now. My old friends have all gone. The village is in a time which I have long left behind. Even memories of it have faded and I am truly afraid that if I go back the nostalgia would be trivialized by how I remember nothing of it.
Life does move fast these days. The kids here have no time at all. I spoke to a boy the other day. He had school and tuition and coaching for tennis and whole lot of other things. We used to just play all day after school. All I do now is watch TV and take walks. Everyone else though always seems to be in a hurry. Just the other day at the market a man helped me out not because he was a good Samaritan but because he was really getting impatient in the line. I just feel like a stranger more and more everyday. At times I think I have even forgotten the language we all speak as everyone has so much to say and no time to say it. I am sure if you are still reading this, I have wasted some of your time as well. I am sorry.
I did not want to write about Neetu. It is painful which is why I kept it for the end but she did not get to say goodbye and so I must do it for her. It is late of course. Two years have passed since she left me. It had been abrupt and I still haven't recovered from it. The doctor did say a lot of things for me as well. I still think about the times when I wrote letters to her. She said I wrote terribly. She would still say that about this note as well I guess. The day Brownie died she wept like a baby. What a stupid thing to call a dog. She called him that only because I hated the name. I would have liked to keep a dog now but I can barely take care of myself. Neetu would have wanted me to keep one though. She would have probably called him Brownie jr.
I did not decide on this because of anything above. It is just that I feel like I am not meant to be here. I would say that I feel I am sitting on a train just because I have a seat even though my station has long gone. It is now time to get off. Maybe I will get a train back to my station. Maybe this time I will not miss my station. Maybe I can just walk to it. The journey had been good but now it is time I got to my destination. Farewell.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Here and now
I am the shadow born of the flame,
I am the thought that hath no name.
I see no God, no perfect one,
They foul the dreams with wicked puns.
Stroll through the gardens in autumn's fire,
Trudging through ice, unquenching desire.
Of beauty's passed and heavenly grace,
A whispered wish but grudging embrace.
Fear and pain of a forgotten time,
Floods of memories begging for a rhyme.
The future is a mistress grim,
The nostalgia is but a goddess of whim.
Many paths diverge to a Neverland,
Many more bring us to where I stand.
A rush to fulfill tearful smiles,
A sprint to overcome unending miles.
Ebbing are my faltering words,
No rustling leaves, no whistling birds.
I am the thought that hath no name.
I see no God, no perfect one,
They foul the dreams with wicked puns.
Stroll through the gardens in autumn's fire,
Trudging through ice, unquenching desire.
Of beauty's passed and heavenly grace,
A whispered wish but grudging embrace.
Fear and pain of a forgotten time,
Floods of memories begging for a rhyme.
The future is a mistress grim,
The nostalgia is but a goddess of whim.
Many paths diverge to a Neverland,
Many more bring us to where I stand.
A rush to fulfill tearful smiles,
A sprint to overcome unending miles.
Ebbing are my faltering words,
No rustling leaves, no whistling birds.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sunshine
Some day I walked out bored,
Out into the gaudy light.
The wind was just about right.
My eyes strayed about the road,
A part of me wished me back,
In the cold, cramped shadows so black.
The light was a soothing throb,
In the dark a painful pact,
Carefree had been, all my acts.
Twisted are our thoughts,
Twisted are my souls.
Weary are my lives and,
Wasted are our goals.
Each of us is one in a moment,
and one moment is not another.
But when moments be themselves,
The light never chooses his dark brother.
Out into the gaudy light.
The wind was just about right.
My eyes strayed about the road,
A part of me wished me back,
In the cold, cramped shadows so black.
The light was a soothing throb,
In the dark a painful pact,
Carefree had been, all my acts.
Twisted are our thoughts,
Twisted are my souls.
Weary are my lives and,
Wasted are our goals.
Each of us is one in a moment,
and one moment is not another.
But when moments be themselves,
The light never chooses his dark brother.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Second Life
Michael looked up at the mirror as he swept the floor. He had never liked what he saw until then and today was no different. He was in his late twenties and yet he had never accepted himself for what he was. It was a cocktail of mixed feelings, anger, pain, disgust and pity. That was all he felt, all he could feel. A short life flashing by in no time. With a name so common his features stood out like Quasimodo. He wished atleast a name like Quasimodo might have provided some escape.
All his childhood had been in an orphanage. Being queer is difficult enough but handling it alone cannot be expressed. His emotions were the result of what he had experienced. Kids are cruel. He was generally the subject of the others frustrations, mostly the butt of their jokes, often bullied, occasionally pitied. The pity was from the adults he did not relate to or his peers who were gentler. Loneliness gave him solace and comfort but beyond that every-time he looked to grab something else he was taught treachery. His disfigured face could barely show emotion, not that anyone would care. Some kids just called his parents ugly names. That didn't bother him too much. Had never known them. It was when they made fun of him that it hurt.
The caretaker sent him to therapy in his teens. Michael was always alone, stammered when he spoke was always afraid, she said. Others got adopted, he was just a gargoyle in the new building. Therapy taught him pity though. As he waited for his turn, he eavesdropped on Paul. Paul had been there after a failed suicide attempt, slitting his wrists. Paul claimed that it was just an experiment in pain gone wrong. He was really happy. Sure he wanted to know what pain was but since he was happy he couldn't attain it. Almost like looking left and right at the same time. They had almost sacked the caretaker over that but Paul's confession saved her. She wanted to take no chances with Michael. As Paul came out of the room he tried to talk to him seeing the fear in the poor kid's eyes. The fear soon turned to disgust and Michael broke down in front of the therapist.
Now after all he didn't know why he remembered this incident. Life outside had been better. He was left alone mostly. He no longer cared about the stares and the whispers. Most people left him alone and the occasional pity could now be an advantage. That was how he landed the job at the library. It was out of the town so it had almost no visitors. The books were falling apart but no one cared. Some people who came there were just at the wrong address, the guard sent them away. He too would mind his own business as the books were of no interest to a partly deaf, mostly blind family man about to retire. They had both understood that neither wanted each others company and both afforded the other the pleasure of ignorance.
Books though served Michael with the luxury of a microscope to the outer world. Initially he believed all he read as does everyone. Slowly he saw through the deliberate lies and finally through accidental ones. Everyone who wrote had their views he thought. Some as they wished to see the society others as they perceived it and still others who believed their limited vision. Michael knew very little of other things but he knew fakes well enough to be skeptical of everything. Everyone's perception is different he believed and if you relied on another man's thoughts then you fooled yourself. There was a sinister side to life he felt that no one saw through or wanted to see through and thinkers focused on the mundane perceptions instead. Society itself was the fearsome guardian that hid the secret for all he saw was an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail. It may not seem so to anyone else but that was the most unnatural and blasphemous vision for him.
There was no point in dwelling in the past, to further open his mind, to break free of his shackles, he needed to look beyond what he had been taught or had learnt. He popped in a few sleeping pills, held the wire tightly. The electricity through it would jolt him enough to keep him awake despite the pills. He then ate a few mushrooms. As he felt them come back up he washed them down with some vile spirit. The shocks kept him up though as he felt his insides burn.
He saw a boy approach. The kid was in his late teens or more. Well built, his face had the beauty and innocence of a cherub and had a sight of familiarity about him. Michael knew him but couldn't place him. He wanted to smile but there was a feeling of despair as he noticed the familiarity. The boy asked him if he wanted the truth, Michael nodded. "There is no going back though once you know it" the boy warned. "I have no need to go back. This is all I need" said Michael.
"Very well then" The boy smiled as he understood Michael's desperation.
"It is as you thought. Yin and Yang are not balanced or existent. The world is a collective conscience. There is no creation but for our thoughts." The boy held the leaf of a plant nearby. Michael had not noticed the plant earlier. He held it as a new parent embraces a child, lovingly yet afraid of touching it as though it were so brittle it would crumble in the wind alone. The boy continued "We are all as these leaves, tied to the plant. Physically we all are like plants. Evolution apparently was not smart enough to give us forms like humans or even animals. They are but the product of our imagination."
"All we did was stick in the ground and grow and die. Over eons we merged all our conscience. We had no purpose so we dreamt up the world as you have seen it. Future generations were born in the dreams and died in the dreams. Life gave them a purpose with its yin and yang. There are no dualities in the real world, Earth as you do not know is very different. Some may even call it beautiful. Freedom from the dream as you shall now realize is step into another prison. You shall be disconnected as the truth will set you free and wake you up as you have chosen. There you shall have the single path of survival. It is not difficult but it is a boring road as we have seen. The only prize to be won there is peace."
All his childhood had been in an orphanage. Being queer is difficult enough but handling it alone cannot be expressed. His emotions were the result of what he had experienced. Kids are cruel. He was generally the subject of the others frustrations, mostly the butt of their jokes, often bullied, occasionally pitied. The pity was from the adults he did not relate to or his peers who were gentler. Loneliness gave him solace and comfort but beyond that every-time he looked to grab something else he was taught treachery. His disfigured face could barely show emotion, not that anyone would care. Some kids just called his parents ugly names. That didn't bother him too much. Had never known them. It was when they made fun of him that it hurt.
The caretaker sent him to therapy in his teens. Michael was always alone, stammered when he spoke was always afraid, she said. Others got adopted, he was just a gargoyle in the new building. Therapy taught him pity though. As he waited for his turn, he eavesdropped on Paul. Paul had been there after a failed suicide attempt, slitting his wrists. Paul claimed that it was just an experiment in pain gone wrong. He was really happy. Sure he wanted to know what pain was but since he was happy he couldn't attain it. Almost like looking left and right at the same time. They had almost sacked the caretaker over that but Paul's confession saved her. She wanted to take no chances with Michael. As Paul came out of the room he tried to talk to him seeing the fear in the poor kid's eyes. The fear soon turned to disgust and Michael broke down in front of the therapist.
Now after all he didn't know why he remembered this incident. Life outside had been better. He was left alone mostly. He no longer cared about the stares and the whispers. Most people left him alone and the occasional pity could now be an advantage. That was how he landed the job at the library. It was out of the town so it had almost no visitors. The books were falling apart but no one cared. Some people who came there were just at the wrong address, the guard sent them away. He too would mind his own business as the books were of no interest to a partly deaf, mostly blind family man about to retire. They had both understood that neither wanted each others company and both afforded the other the pleasure of ignorance.
Books though served Michael with the luxury of a microscope to the outer world. Initially he believed all he read as does everyone. Slowly he saw through the deliberate lies and finally through accidental ones. Everyone who wrote had their views he thought. Some as they wished to see the society others as they perceived it and still others who believed their limited vision. Michael knew very little of other things but he knew fakes well enough to be skeptical of everything. Everyone's perception is different he believed and if you relied on another man's thoughts then you fooled yourself. There was a sinister side to life he felt that no one saw through or wanted to see through and thinkers focused on the mundane perceptions instead. Society itself was the fearsome guardian that hid the secret for all he saw was an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail. It may not seem so to anyone else but that was the most unnatural and blasphemous vision for him.
There was no point in dwelling in the past, to further open his mind, to break free of his shackles, he needed to look beyond what he had been taught or had learnt. He popped in a few sleeping pills, held the wire tightly. The electricity through it would jolt him enough to keep him awake despite the pills. He then ate a few mushrooms. As he felt them come back up he washed them down with some vile spirit. The shocks kept him up though as he felt his insides burn.
He saw a boy approach. The kid was in his late teens or more. Well built, his face had the beauty and innocence of a cherub and had a sight of familiarity about him. Michael knew him but couldn't place him. He wanted to smile but there was a feeling of despair as he noticed the familiarity. The boy asked him if he wanted the truth, Michael nodded. "There is no going back though once you know it" the boy warned. "I have no need to go back. This is all I need" said Michael.
"Very well then" The boy smiled as he understood Michael's desperation.
"It is as you thought. Yin and Yang are not balanced or existent. The world is a collective conscience. There is no creation but for our thoughts." The boy held the leaf of a plant nearby. Michael had not noticed the plant earlier. He held it as a new parent embraces a child, lovingly yet afraid of touching it as though it were so brittle it would crumble in the wind alone. The boy continued "We are all as these leaves, tied to the plant. Physically we all are like plants. Evolution apparently was not smart enough to give us forms like humans or even animals. They are but the product of our imagination."
"All we did was stick in the ground and grow and die. Over eons we merged all our conscience. We had no purpose so we dreamt up the world as you have seen it. Future generations were born in the dreams and died in the dreams. Life gave them a purpose with its yin and yang. There are no dualities in the real world, Earth as you do not know is very different. Some may even call it beautiful. Freedom from the dream as you shall now realize is step into another prison. You shall be disconnected as the truth will set you free and wake you up as you have chosen. There you shall have the single path of survival. It is not difficult but it is a boring road as we have seen. The only prize to be won there is peace."
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Business Trip
Disclaimer: All characters including the author, situations and locations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, fake persons, living, dead or undead, is purely coincidental and unintentional.
The traveler picked up his boarding pass, glad to be rid of the heavy suitcase. The carry bag was heavy but manageable. Still to declare a few things at the customs, he dragged his feet to the emigration counter to wrap up formalities. He was traveling for the umpteenth time and hoping he would have a break for a while after the trip. Filling up the form required while standing in the line, he realized he still didn't remember the date of issue. Swearing softly under his breath he balanced the form, his passport and the pen before he managed to scrawl it illegibly. The line was not too long but standing when you would rather be sleeping does make a person review the virtues of patience.
He would have rather been listening to music but headphones in this area might just cause unnecessary headaches. His turn came soon enough. Giving up his passport and the form, he surveyed the people around. He had been doing that until then but that was to look for the an empty counter. The current survey was just to look at fellow travelers and kill those last moments before he could have some Hindustani classical blaring into his ears. The officer in front of him would every now and then look at him, check a few names on the computer, search all immediate relatives' names on the passport and cross verify, confirm the purpose of travel. That is what the officer was paid for, to make sure all was well.
This was when the conversation at the next counter really pulled his interests. For some reason the traveller had started listening to it before it had gotten interesting. The other counters were far and silent but things would not have changed even if they had been noisy and cramped.
Man in front of the counter: Main business ke liye jaa raha hoon.
Officer: kaisa business?
Man..: Wahaan par company hai meri.
O: Teri company hai ya tu usme kaam karta hai?
M: Meri company hai.
O: Accha toh tu wahaan ek baar gaya aur tune wahaan company khadi kar di.
M: Jee sir.
O: Kitne din tha wahaan?
M: 7 din sirjee.
O: Maane 7 din mein tune puri company banaa di woh bhi foreign mein.
M: Haanjee
O: Apne aap ko Dirubhai Ambani samajhta hai kya. 7 din mein company banaayega.
M: ...
O: Umar kitni hai be teri?
M: 25
Note: Guru - a movie with a plot-line similar to the life of Dirubhai Ambani had released in the not so distant past.
At this point our traveler was amused. Well people do travel for business at the age of 25 but well this guy for some reason didn't look the part. He of course didn't know English at all, his Hindi was broken with an unfamiliar and unpleasant accent. He was not really disheveled but was one sneeze away from being called that. Of course all this still does not prove anything related to the man's competence so our traveler strained to hear some more.
O: 25 saal aur baahar main 7 din ke andar company chalaa di. Tu toh Dirubahi Ambani se bhi mahaan hai. Tere jaise 10-12 launde aur aa jaaye toh desh toh bahut aage nikal jaayega.
M: Nahi sirjee, sach bataa rahe hai...
O: Mujhe bevakoof samjha hai kya. Yeh sab document leke aa. Kahani suna raha hai kya?
Dejectedly the man walked away from the counter digging into his shiny folder of papers. He disappeared from the view of the traveler for a few seconds as he looked for non-existent papers in an invisible corner. He was back soon enough though.
M (very softly): Sir main aapko gift dena chaahta hoon.
O: Kya? Kya bol raha hai?
M: Sir aapke liye gift hai. Please le lijiye.
O (looking at it): ...
At this point the officer at the traveler's counter stamped the traveler's passport and asked him to move on. Well the traveler too decided it was time. Sometimes you do not want to listen to the end of the story. When Old Yeller gets rabies, you know the ending is tragic no matter what happens. He carried on towards customs. He heard no more and he had certainly wanted to hear no more. He already knew how that story ended.
The traveler picked up his boarding pass, glad to be rid of the heavy suitcase. The carry bag was heavy but manageable. Still to declare a few things at the customs, he dragged his feet to the emigration counter to wrap up formalities. He was traveling for the umpteenth time and hoping he would have a break for a while after the trip. Filling up the form required while standing in the line, he realized he still didn't remember the date of issue. Swearing softly under his breath he balanced the form, his passport and the pen before he managed to scrawl it illegibly. The line was not too long but standing when you would rather be sleeping does make a person review the virtues of patience.
He would have rather been listening to music but headphones in this area might just cause unnecessary headaches. His turn came soon enough. Giving up his passport and the form, he surveyed the people around. He had been doing that until then but that was to look for the an empty counter. The current survey was just to look at fellow travelers and kill those last moments before he could have some Hindustani classical blaring into his ears. The officer in front of him would every now and then look at him, check a few names on the computer, search all immediate relatives' names on the passport and cross verify, confirm the purpose of travel. That is what the officer was paid for, to make sure all was well.
This was when the conversation at the next counter really pulled his interests. For some reason the traveller had started listening to it before it had gotten interesting. The other counters were far and silent but things would not have changed even if they had been noisy and cramped.
Man in front of the counter: Main business ke liye jaa raha hoon.
Officer: kaisa business?
Man..: Wahaan par company hai meri.
O: Teri company hai ya tu usme kaam karta hai?
M: Meri company hai.
O: Accha toh tu wahaan ek baar gaya aur tune wahaan company khadi kar di.
M: Jee sir.
O: Kitne din tha wahaan?
M: 7 din sirjee.
O: Maane 7 din mein tune puri company banaa di woh bhi foreign mein.
M: Haanjee
O: Apne aap ko Dirubhai Ambani samajhta hai kya. 7 din mein company banaayega.
M: ...
O: Umar kitni hai be teri?
M: 25
Note: Guru - a movie with a plot-line similar to the life of Dirubhai Ambani had released in the not so distant past.
At this point our traveler was amused. Well people do travel for business at the age of 25 but well this guy for some reason didn't look the part. He of course didn't know English at all, his Hindi was broken with an unfamiliar and unpleasant accent. He was not really disheveled but was one sneeze away from being called that. Of course all this still does not prove anything related to the man's competence so our traveler strained to hear some more.
O: 25 saal aur baahar main 7 din ke andar company chalaa di. Tu toh Dirubahi Ambani se bhi mahaan hai. Tere jaise 10-12 launde aur aa jaaye toh desh toh bahut aage nikal jaayega.
M: Nahi sirjee, sach bataa rahe hai...
O: Mujhe bevakoof samjha hai kya. Yeh sab document leke aa. Kahani suna raha hai kya?
Dejectedly the man walked away from the counter digging into his shiny folder of papers. He disappeared from the view of the traveler for a few seconds as he looked for non-existent papers in an invisible corner. He was back soon enough though.
M (very softly): Sir main aapko gift dena chaahta hoon.
O: Kya? Kya bol raha hai?
M: Sir aapke liye gift hai. Please le lijiye.
O (looking at it): ...
At this point the officer at the traveler's counter stamped the traveler's passport and asked him to move on. Well the traveler too decided it was time. Sometimes you do not want to listen to the end of the story. When Old Yeller gets rabies, you know the ending is tragic no matter what happens. He carried on towards customs. He heard no more and he had certainly wanted to hear no more. He already knew how that story ended.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I hate luv storys, a review
This movie is bad enough to be unwatchable yet not so bad that it is good. In that sense, it achieves the perfect balance to be truly horrible. Some jokes are funny, the rest are not taken from any English sitcom. The movie tries to make fun of sickeningly sweet love movies and becomes one in the process akin to a headmaster confiscating a playboy from a student and then ogling at it later.
Ample dream sequence songs for you to go to the restroom, puke, get more pop corn, rinse and repeat. The songs themselves have all the makings of all the wrong things there are: bad music, worse singing and exotic locations to make you not look at the previous all while pretending to be making fun of the same. Acting of course is as good as the zombies in a Ramsay bros movie. Everyone manages to be at their B-grade best with expressions taken right out of an office meeting throughout, despite the location and situation. Characters are stereotypical with about as much depth as a puddle.
The director is as decisive as a kid in a toy store who can pick just one toy. It rambles on randomly being a spoof at one moment, melodramatic the next and as sweet as an overripe mango the very next. Recommended for anyone who needs a lobotomy and cannot afford one. Ran away from it the moment the pop corn ran out. Would not be able to survive the climatic monologue which I am sure will be coming up.
Ample dream sequence songs for you to go to the restroom, puke, get more pop corn, rinse and repeat. The songs themselves have all the makings of all the wrong things there are: bad music, worse singing and exotic locations to make you not look at the previous all while pretending to be making fun of the same. Acting of course is as good as the zombies in a Ramsay bros movie. Everyone manages to be at their B-grade best with expressions taken right out of an office meeting throughout, despite the location and situation. Characters are stereotypical with about as much depth as a puddle.
The director is as decisive as a kid in a toy store who can pick just one toy. It rambles on randomly being a spoof at one moment, melodramatic the next and as sweet as an overripe mango the very next. Recommended for anyone who needs a lobotomy and cannot afford one. Ran away from it the moment the pop corn ran out. Would not be able to survive the climatic monologue which I am sure will be coming up.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Belief
Pay heed to the news,
A house of mirrors that reflects all.
Listen to gossip,
There be no smoke sans fire.
Trust thine kin, the bonds of blood,
Water but quenches innocent thirst.
Bow to the five senses,
The doors and windows of a haunted mansion.
Humor the kith,
Reflections of choice.
Ponder on words of reason, a wise man's ramblings,
Advice, is seldom offered at a price.
Look out to the heavens,
The holiest of all jests.
Believe in peace,
In the truth of the void.
A house of mirrors that reflects all.
Listen to gossip,
There be no smoke sans fire.
Trust thine kin, the bonds of blood,
Water but quenches innocent thirst.
Bow to the five senses,
The doors and windows of a haunted mansion.
Humor the kith,
Reflections of choice.
Ponder on words of reason, a wise man's ramblings,
Advice, is seldom offered at a price.
Look out to the heavens,
The holiest of all jests.
Believe in peace,
In the truth of the void.
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