Intoxicated Incoherence

Today I am back to my incoherent best. So many tangled threads of thought – reminds me of tangled mess of yarn mom used to take out just before she used to start knitting for the winter. On second thought, these are alive. They feel more like a squirming bed of creepers, trying to climb up and being pulled down by others – it reaches out – up in the free air and then falls back into that moving mess. So many thought, yet not able to express – that been the story for quite some time. Looking back – in an effort to find out the reason why am I not writing anymore, again a swarm of thoughts covers the consciousness.

Is it that I have become possessive of my writings? Is that I have that urge to maintain a standard in my blog? Is it that I am afraid that since people are aware whose thoughts these are? Or is it the opposite –no one actually reads into the thoughts I pour out? Is it that I know that those who could have read into them will no longer read them? Or is it that I do not want them to read in?

See? Again – have started blabbering. That’s what I have been doing. And that’s why those thoughts stopped making it to these pages.

Today, when I woke up in the morning, I stepped into the balcony, greeted by the nip in the air, looked out at the thin veil of mist. Sky still gloomy, sun yet to succeed in waking up; I saw the row of flower pots – the plants were all dead. They have not been tended – not loved for ages. The kept on burning in the savage summer; they must have kept pleading for the monsoon – that gave a miss. While I was feeling secure in the controlled inside of my closed doors, some who were close to me might have died.

Is it true, like someone told me that I do not know how to take care of those who love me? Is it because of that only one of my favorite ways of expressing myself has left me? Or am I being needlessly insecure. That reminds me, even after getting so much in life in last one year, don’t know why sometime, the feeling of emptiness still haunts. As if I am staring at the masterpiece I have just completed, and while everyone keeps applauding, my stare only finding pieces of blanks in the portrait! As if looking at the appreciating crowd, I can only see the smirk hanging from a face – in the last row, standing apart – looking at me; the eyes telling me, “See – you too know, it’s not a masterpiece. You too know there are so many places that are still a blank, and you can do nothing about it!”

Yes it troubles me. But somehow, I know it’s nothing but being human. Being human only makes us crave for pathos. Like I was explaining her a few days back. It’s like intoxication. We know it’s toxic yet we fall for it. We love to enjoy pain. Somewhere deep in our consciousness, we crave to be pained. That is why we reminisce, that’s why we feel good to be nostalgic. So I miss; miss being read and explained by someone. I know I can get anytime from a shrink, but not from a friend. Just like I used to be pained, when I missed chatting up with my college group; having no hope to be able to do that again. Yet am able to do it now a day; albeit rarely, but it has come back. And that gives me hope that may be I will again get a friend, new or an old one coming back, who might be able to read me.

Not demeaning a single bit the love I am floating in, life has taught me that survival always means a trade off. It is not a Utopia, so we always have to “choose n pick”. You win some – you lose some. It’s the choice that we make, that makes us what we are. And I have chosen without regret. So it’s just the craving for intoxication of pathos that makes me miss. Once we start seeing through the veil of illusion around us, we come to know, how fragile and transient life is. It’s not worth lamenting what we have not, and squander all that we have. So less time and so many things to do. Have already lost precious years, may be decades in the void. It is time I too enjoy what I envied others enjoying. Am not only thankful for what I have been gifted in last one year, but also for all that I got before and taken away. That proved that I too have the ability to get all those, yet I chose to move away. And I know the reason why I moved. Someone called me manipulative; I know I am not, yet I did try to manipulate that one time.

Our elders time and again have tried to teach us that road to enlightenment is through purification through pain. When they felt, they were not having enough pain; they spent on bed of nails and walked on fire. My soul wants me to believe, these are the same pain. Sometime it numbs, sometime it stirs up the emotions, and sometime it simply put me in bliss. Like the perfectly brewed bottle of wine, pain too can bring wonders. Looking back, that’s why I thank all of them who have been part of my life and left. And pray that if I ever get a chance to repay, or lessen their pain, may my God help me in be able to doing so.

I know, I have always been crazy and intend to remain so. Not caring an aorta, what world thinks of it. So I will keep rambling; if someone dares to read, it’s their choice. If no one does, I would know I have completed my urge to take these thoughts out of me, put them on a piece of paper and tear them off. That’s what I have been doing. Now, am just putting them in a recycle-bin called my Blog. There has been hardly any good blog around now a day. Just as rightly said by someone, all I can see around are one-liners and people copying thoughts of others. So I feel safe! Horus tries to walk again!

Ink n Wash

After a long long time, I was able to pickup the brush and some colors. Yes colors! Somehow I was not able to move beyond the black n white world of pencil sketches. Though its not much, still there are a few splashes here n there -

Bloom

Splash of color

Freedom

Words

Twins keep walking

Last week a packet arrived through courier and inside there were some memories and a page full of darkness. Though I packed them back in the face of mounting tasks in hand – the weekend revived them – and it broke down the walls – and the chain of thoughts came marching back. It was the same wall that came up a few time before, the same chain of thought that were somehow closed a few times before. Like that half-read book, so complex that you couldn’t comprehend, and kept it on the top most shelf, for – “until later”. The letter in the packet brought back the “later”.

I am very well aware of the perils of being the ERO – Eternal Romantic Optimist, blabbered about it so many times. And every-time went head first rushing towards the same path, in search of that allusive feeling. And every time, found that I had it, but not what I went for. And I kept wondering, will there be a time, when I will try my best to love and NOT find that I have only delivered pain instead? Will there be a person that will think of love and romance the same way I look at it?

The twins of third zodiac inside started their debate -

“Do you still need a reason to be convinced that the way you think is wrong? Cant you see – it is after all falling in love and not your so-called rising in love”

“But then how come every time I started feeling love, I found myself liberated? That’s why I kept giving more – without ever wanting anything back.”

“The world is not a fool like you, they know it runs in the give n take policy. You give some – you get some”

“So love too is another form of business?”

“Not business silly – way of living!”

“But even they too liked it when I kept on giving them – then why did they choose to imprison? They themselves taught me in their own way what a soul mate is, yet they didn’t understand who they were connecting to?”

“Ho – ho – ho… did you forget what they said? You are a pretty articulate actor. You always created the aura that made them dream about fictional the fictional hypothesis called soul mate. Down in your heart, you knew very well, they had absolute no idea how and what you were feeling. Even then you kept on complaining to me that you were in pain. You just wanted to conquer them and so you made them dream about all they wanted to dream. The great womanizer simply lured its prey. You kept giving to form the habit in them and then at the right moment slipped away, knowing that it will put them in pain”

“Nooooo – not at all. I did try that too. I offered readily to get into that prison and tried kept giving, and saw the result too. Didnt I tell each one of them that how I hate to be imprisoned? Didnt I tell them clearly that I am not to be possessed? Didnt THEY tell me at the beginning that they too wont be able to give anything more and I agreed? Then why did they ‘choose’ to start possessing? and then retract themselves?”
“So you are once again trying to fool yourself and everyone around that you are a saint eh? When you yourself know how much you have hurt each of them. How bad you left them to fend for themselves, when you promised to be there, always?”

“I am there – always, it’s just that they want someone else they thought I am. The me who told them that I will be there always – WILL be there always. Will love them always, it’s just that every time they stung, I involuntarily retracted back like a mollusk inside the shell. Every time the wall gre stronger than before. Every time it takes me greater force to break those walls to come out to live again.”

“Oh come on, you know you can keep your hands off them. You would probably be with someone, even before this it’s read by someone else.”

“Hmmm – may be yes; Coz can’t let anyone see whats inside. SO I need an outside that will draw their attention away from this gangrened stub called soul.”

“Listen to me and stop running for romance and love – just be happy with what you get and try to live out this life”

“Live out? How can I live out the life without the very thing I know to be life? Yeah may be I just need to make sure that I don’t hand out another consignment of pain and darkness. Have got used to it myself, so just need to keep it to me. And see? it’s the pain that made me write once again – isn’t it? May be that’s the answer – pain is what romance all about. May be that’s the reason the saints chose the way of pain to emancipate the soul. And if that’s true than so be it. Will keep looking for romance and love. But surely will keep praying that all the pain I gave to them, are taken aways from them and given back to me. I know I can handle them and I know it will lead me to peace.”

So I once again put a last glance back – may be someday, somewhere, they all will find what they came looking for, while I keep walking in my search. The phoenix will rise again one day, as usual; it’s not in its fate to die.

Social Cost of Living

Standing at the fourth floor balcony, I was staring at the newly inaugurated toll plaza of Badarpur fly-over. Its been a life saver for the thousands crossing the border every day. With enough number of gates, the traffic was moving only swiftly. Though there is an option of not taking the plaza too, and going through the narrow side road. It’s mostly taken by the local autos, some light commercial vehicles and the two wheelers – which anyway are not allowed on the flyovers. Looking at the traffic, it becomes apparent that still 80% of the traffic are actually paying to take on the service. Paying! That too thirty bucks for every trip at least. Even though they are not commercial trips and just to use a road facility.

And that started a chain of thought – why should we pay extra to use for a facility for which we are already paying? We do pay road taxes to use the road – right? And it’s not a private land that we are using – but the same national highway. And that reminded me that there are several places in the highways all across the country, where we keep on paying the toll – just to use a bit of better facility. A facility that the government has given to a private party on BOOT (Build – Own – Operate – Transfer). It’s supposedly a win-win-win solution for all. Government is happy as it do not have to spend money or take on the responsibility of getting the facility in place. The private contractor is happy to construct it and make enough money to recover the money spent on bribes, cost (of course – inflated!) as well as good amount of profit from the toll during the “operate” phase. And seemingly the users – that’s you and me, the general citizen, are also happy with a smooth ride. Funnily at the end of the cycle – we pay twice for a facility, for a facility that we are nearly forced to use – that we are supposed to get free.

Moving along that line of thought, we pay more than once for almost everything in life. We pay to keep a government running, which are supposed to work for us and provide us the facilities; yet we keep paying for all the facilities they provide – from road to water and electricity. Does that mean the 20 – 30& of direct income tax we are paying is just to feed a huge, corrupt – inefficient workforce we call governmental departments? The babu-s? We pay for their salaries, yet we pay them again in bribe for a work we have already paid for – and then still don’t get the work we wanted done. As if we are having maid, whom we pay the salary, and she demands money for not dirtying our home (whereas she was supposed to clean) and then at the end of the day clean it ourselves – funny isn’t it?

With the chain of thoughts going on, I looked down to see the parking lot of our office and the guards managing them, and the workers keeping it clean and usable. Why is it done so? The organization provides facility to its employees so that they can perform to the best of their abilities and add to the growth and bottom-line of the company. Larger and better managed companies’ provides better facilities to its employees – resulting in loyalty and better output. They do not charge the employees for the facilities provided. Nor do they tax its employees for its working. Can we draw an analogy between the company and our country? Our country is showing tremendous growth and output. Which means it is supposed to deliver the return to its stakeholders and workforce? But who are the stakeholders in this case? The handful of politicians in power? The industrialists? Where does the money we create go? I know people will argue that a country cannot be compared to a company as here we all need to share a social responsibility and pay for the facilities provided to the poor. But is that really the case? Well, with a mood to find a solid argument I went hunting for government data on this year’s budget. Well I am not an economist, neither a finance professional, and my exposure to finance is limited to planning for short and mid-term budget for my departments and business units. And initially as I delved into the data, I thought – “gotcha!” – more than 68% expenditure under non-plan expenditure? Went one step deep into the break-up of non-planned expenditure; yeah! One more info – 22.43% of total expenditure is on “Interest Payments and Debt Servicing”.  And if we remove the expenditure on police, interest subsidies and non-plan capital outlay – just 6.83% of total budget expenditure is on heads directly linked to people matters – agriculture, fertilizers, petroleum and likes.

Well, took one more dive, one step more details. And now the entire scenario changes. The 22.42% of budget spent on “Interest Payments and Debt Servicing” is not on the loans taken by government (it says- “From 2004- 05, the provision for interest payment on borrowings under the Market Stabilization Scheme (MSS), have been separately reflected in terms of the MOU on MSS”), but on all governmental projects – small savings plans, insurance covers, loans given, PF and other schemes. Voila – at least some of our money is being well spent. So if we take out the defense (13.29%) police (2%) and grants to Public Enterprises (0.05%), most of the non-plan expenditure are on good cause. And even the planned-expenditure too is not too badly spent.

So it looks like we are a socialist country after all, and the money we contribute is planned to be spent mostly on countries social commitment. Well, whether the money allocated is actually reaching the intended cause is a different question all-together. In Kapil Sibal’s words – “it’s a question of implementation of policy and not the policy itself”.  Happy in my thought I came down to my seat, the chain of thought lost in load of ISO and software.

On my walk back to home, I passed by the same toll complex, and the chain of thoughts got picked up, where I left it at the balcony. So what was the conclusion? Why do we have to pay for the facility to make our life a bit easier? My mind went back to the analogy, the case of services provided by companies’ to its employer. And yes, there was some similarity. Its like the company subsidizing the food at canteen, so that everyone, including those who are paid less, to avail some quality food at lower cost. And the company ensures that there is someone to keep a tab on the quality service provided. At the same time, it gives an option of food counters opened by well-known vendors – “Café Coffee Day”, “Dominos” et al. So if one has the money and willing to spend it for something special, they have a choice. Company simply provides a space for those vendors to operate and it becomes a win-win for all.

And here too the government is doing the same; it provides a free access road to all those who doesn’t want to pay, and use the standard facility; and at the same time given the space to an operator to build a better facility which citizens can “chose” to avail, by paying additional money to the operator. Moving ahead in the same analogy, if the employees in an organization finds out about anyone from the vendors offering a service or another employee trusted with maintaining those services to general employees to be making personal gains, the onus lies both in the hand of employees as well as some empowered seniors to bring them to books. The ordinary employees need to gather enough evidence and bring them to those empowered, so that those seniors can take actions. And I remembered a number of cases where we did ensure that those profit mongers were penalized. I know it’s not that easy in the case of the broader picture of our country. But the analogy still holds, and at least some of us have to take the onus of taking it forward.  I know it still has to be aided by those empowered by us – the politicians in power. And remembering what Bismarck said ““People never lie so much as after a hunt, during a war or before an election”, we need to exercise caution on who we choose, and keep trying till we find the right guys. The intension and frameworks are fine – let’s keep searching for the guys who will implement them right.

Rainy Days

A bike,
Endless road,
Damp monsoon air on face,
A pillion resting head on shoulder,
Bliss!

One canvas on easel,
Scattered colors on palette,
Chowrasiya’s flute,
Dreams floating around –
Submerged!

Thin sheet covering 2 souls,
No thread in between,
Silken tress on my chest,
Occasional spray of raindrops –
Intoxicating!

Monsoon is Here

So finally it is here – the monsoon decided its time to pay a visit. Notice how no longer its “she” but “it”! Yes, monsoon the way I knew is dead – yet decides to come back – hence the neuter status of “it”. Yes I still look and sigh at the dark clouds, I still feel the droplets on my face, I still have goose bumps walking on rain soaked dark evenings; but they all glide off the thickened skin. I still am the cloud filling the ether but the “Winds of Amazonia” no longer whistle its way through. Droplets evaporated from the parched forehead – yet cloud decides to return to Cherapunji.

During the latest roller-coaster ride, first got introduced to the charlatan world of anti-depressants, shrinks and ever approaching point of no-return, and then thanks to the god
sent Virgo – clawed back my way into terra firma. Life is indeed dramatic than any fiction. So many characters encountered in these last couple of years – each having a story of their own – stranger than any best-seller in the market.  

Sometime back read the account of a blogger – her adventure on matrimonial alliances, and I smiled at my own and thanked her luck that she didn’t venture beyond the obvious.  Myriads of shades – bright white to all possible grays, blacks as well as kaleidoscopic that shames the rainbow itself; so many of them that if I were a student of psychology, I would have filled a library and added at least five path breaking research to my name.

But here I am, still surviving the onslaught, smiling at all those who still keep on trying to
shoot, not knowing that the heart no longer exist – at least not the way it used to be.  They have done their best, with all the weapons handed over to them by myself, yet I refused to die. May be I need to check the color of my throat to see if it has turned blue! Time changes the perspectives; some loose shine – while some shines brighter than ever before; and I keep moving from evening to morning like the tireless Mercury.

So monsoon is back, to water the garden; little shoots will emerge once again – the memories will keep on resonating, sometime to shake – sometime to spur, and life will keep smiling back at all those who missed the chance to board the bus. I know all those departed will have their own consolation in belief of avengeance, yet I only smile back; relieved to note that after all I have not met n lost my soul mate. Worshipers of Loki can try their best to deceive, forgetting that one cannot imprison a soul. Phoenix? Horus? Or is it just “Megh”? The river of time keep flowing – universe watches  – while the obscure farmer from the sleepy village looks up at the rain clouds, smiles, puts his tiller on his shoulder and starts walking to his farm. Lots of work left to do!

4th Decade -

The mandatory cloud cover is on – the raindrops showering kisses! yet…

Midway through the journey
Without a start
Whipping the bullocks to pull
Without the cart

Best-selling novel, that no-one read
Half, yet zero; pages of history – blank
Winding watch; hands won’t move
Screeching to a halt, moving full speed ahead

One smile – ripples in the pond
Pair of eyes that burnt eagle’s heart
Husky voice merging time n space
Quivering lips pulling you through
Memory mob, mobs the peace
Silence prevails half way through

Passage warped in time
Time wrapped in maze of masks
Clouds, raindrops and mossy steps
Sailor’s whistle swamps em all

Does phoenix have any more lives left
Midway through the journey

Bhuley Bisre Geet

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Fork in the Road

Its yesterday once more; once more standing at the cross-road – while life demands me to choose. I hate to choose, its always difficult to leave something behind. Yet, that’s inevitable, as you cannot travel with baggage increasing. Personally I always love travelling light. And sometime ponder, is it the same reason why I have so less with me, in my journey of life!

When you keep winning, its easier to make those choices, as you have that latent confidence in yourself to make all that you choose – work for you. Its when you are unsure – it gives you the chill. For some, its game of cricket, where the ball is bowled and you need to take split decision, to hit or to block! To lift the ball over the mid-wicket for a six, or flick it towards the fine leg for a quick and safe single. For others it’s a game of chess; weighing all possible options and then pondering over what all could be the next move and the next to that – till a possible end is reached; plans for all of those possibilities, and then weighing each individual move before you move your piece on the board and hit the clock for life to make its move.

Someone said, life is rocking – and I said to myself, yeah you bet – mine too! Its rocking my boat. When you ask something from life, be sure what you are asking for; ‘coz life has this uncanny habit of giving you what you want, yet send that chill down you spine with the unexpected flip side.  I do remember, I used the Chinese proverb, quoted by Bibhuti Bhushan that says – “Instead of spending a tranquil, immobile life of a square tile of a roof, being a marble rock on a river-bed, rolling and vanishing off is far better – far better – far better”. Yes I wanted a action from life – and what it gave me is labyrinth of choices. To move me away from in-action it threw me into a vortex of instability. So keep guessing, keep choosing and keep thinking “what happened if” (oh yeah! I remember those long list of “what happened if” questions I prepared for JEE. Unfortunately none of
these “what happened ifs” are from that list).

 When you are clear about “why” to live, none of the possible “how” matters. And it’s these “why”-s that makes the choices of life tricky. So once more I am with my chess board, counting my “why”-s, and drawing myself inwards into the drawing board. The game of snake and ladder with life continues.

Mistakes

Mistakes leads to innovation, discovery and new direction. Let make some mistakes today !

-Running through the same road, can be easy and peaceful. But can we expect to do something new without travelling off the beaten track? If we are too consious about not straying out of norms and righteousness, can we do something new? Over and over again, we all have seen how mistakes and blunders have resulted in discovery and innovation. Not that mistakes will always lead us to success; rather it will mostly take us to the despairing failure. Yet the rewards of "something new" is reason enough to do things differently, taking the the risk of doing mistakes. If it leads to failure, learn from it and be prepared to do some mistakes again someday – mistakes of some different kind!

Lets be ready for some mistakes "Today"!

Child King’s return from Exile

Some write for the sake of writing, some write for money and some because they like to write. I write to emote. So until and unless there is an emotion strong enough, and that too one that I can manage well to channelize, I can’t and don’t write. And I have one of those emoting frame of mind right now. After ages, I have been able to touch the “Child King” and able to invite him out of his exile.

Been reading like a obstinate carnivore for quite some time, and it was mostly psychohistory and fantasies of few men managing the galaxy full of humans and a godly robot controlling them all at the end – as dished out by Asimov.  Somehow, I have always found most of today’s Indian writers pretty verbose. That’s completely my personal feeling and judgment, whether it was Shobha Dey, Chetan Bhagat or Arvind Adiga, but that’s how it was. So was quite skeptical picking up this one from Kunal Basu; but that was what the plan was; and I must say I floated. He held the key! It opened the door to child king’s exiled land.

Villages of Bangla, the little nuances, the squeaking of a rickshaw around the corners, talking to Matla, the mixed smell of fish and vegetable in the market, and the kites, all of them flooded the memories; and the Child King bolted! He ran and ran; through the mango groves, the unguarded backyard of silent homes, across the paddy field, to the banks of an obscure canal named Saraswati. There panting, standing on the banks, he argued with her for not meeting him for so many days. And then he ran back, to his  hideout, searching for his courtiers, and found none. Picking up a few Babla and green Jamrul, climbed up to his favorite branch, covered in thick leaves of the oval Banyan leaves. This was the guy, who ruled!

He found his friend the Painter looking for his color and brushes. Both exchanged the nod, and they knew – its been a long time a painting got created. The sky is slowly gathering the colors – creation might bloom soon. Its been a long time of anarchy – thought the king; its time to bring it back to its glory. Someone is playing a flute; the spring might not get skipped this year. He told the Shoulder Bearer not to raise his head and declared the reign of Dream Breather is coming to an end; he has done his job, dreams
has been carefully sown and now ready to breathe life.

Times will not be the same. They not “meant” to be. Yet they go round and round. Not to get repeated, but to give them back life and opportunity to chart a new course, sing a new song.  Someone singing – can hear the faint tunes of a “Rain Song”? The clouds waved at him, the rain seeds are being spread. It might rain again in this parched land – all hail the “Child King”, he has returned to his land.

 

One more effort!

For the umpteenth time.. tring to re-start the engines once more! hoping this time it might be better than before. Thinking about starting two more sections – my thoughts. they might be smaller – tinier updates or additions; but then having difficulty in holding my attention this one might be good.

So some questions in life that are yet to get answers. and some answers that I keep repeating to myself and others. Who knows might help me if not anything else, to restart my writing! so they will be – "Life: Perspectives" and "Life: Paradox"

sputter sputter.. vroom vroom vroooom!

Replied to Someone !

Dont cry, dont try
don’t make it so hard

dont plead, dont concede,
dont let go your guard

You are pretty, you are witty
No need to undermine

Just try, and fly
And let your soul shine!

Idiots, Amir, Sagarika and a bit of blabber

 

 

Wow! That was something quite interesting to read. Not the article alone but the near 90 responses too. The Article in question is one by Sagarika Ghose on 3 Idiots published in Hindustan Times. and a similar one posted on ibnlive. Most of the thoughts that came to mind while reading the article already got thrown back at the author in those 90 odd responses. From both perspectives; and I couldn’t say either the article or the people responding for and against it were wrong, just because they are opinions and everyone has the right to express their opinion.

 

But the Gemini in me was actually bubbling to look at it from all possible perspectives. And some interesting perspectives started to reach the surface and burst. So lemme see if I can capture them in my long pending effort to start writing once more…

 

Perspective 1

 

It’s a question of supply and demand! Things that are less in supply are hugely in demand. Things that are in fashion are in demand. Things that are different from the one in vogue are new and in fashion, hence in demand. “3 Idiots” scores in all of them. It shows a story where the protagonist fights the rat race and creates his own path. He is a protagonist who fights the shackles of societal system. So he is “different”, makes him “in-fashion” hence in demand! No one likes to have a bitter pill to have fun. So the movie adds oodles of comic takes – so fun. And something that is in “demand” and “fun” has to be successful.

 

Perspective 2

 

Does everything in demand or liked by youth has to be bad? Is moral policing right? (Well they are in fashion now days, because it sells!) But the question is if too many people demanding something, then there is a big possibility that it is a basic need? When Nehru – Patel established India, the basic needs were “Roti – Kapda – Makan”. And people craved for that much only. But we have come a long way since. Now we have our government stressing the need of health & education as basic needs, as that’s what today’s populace demand and aspire for. Hence the basic need is driven by national demand. And the basic need can not be good or bad – it’s just the basic need. Same way today the overwhelming success of 3I shows the demand is for alternates – to break away from stifling education system, so isn’t it possible that it is also a basic need of present society? And there can not be a right or wrong about it – it’s just the “Basic Need”.

 

Perspective 3

 

From the perspective of back benchers, there’s nothing wrong being a back bencher. Whether I have the knowledge and capability, if I chose not to boast that and simply love doing what I do – is that wrong? I sit on the back bench, listen to what the professor explains, and instead of concentrating my effort to prove to the professor and call that I am the best person who have understood it, I try to dream, in what will this information be useful? May be the next prank that I was planning? May be the great business plan that I dreamt about? Yeah – that what I love and that’s what I will continue to do. And that’s what the movie shows.

 

Perspective 4

 

Now, let’s have a totally different take on it. The history is decorated with personalities who always left the beaten path, and chose to be “different”! Even the IIMs keep teaching you to think “out of the box”. Don’t know how to think out of the box while trying to protect the box itself. Amir is just trying to join that bandwagon – of “Maggi Hot n Sweet Tomato Sauce”: “This sauce is different baass!” And so a continuous effort to break out of the mould – RDB, TZP and now 3i. Dreaming about a rebel world – and THAT’S youth. The rebel! The romanticism of breaking the shackles of law and “usual”. That’s how you invent – that’s how to innovate, that’s how the history has been mile-stoned by the events that changed history. That’s why people from Kamal Ataturk to Che Guevara are respected. Even Galileo and Einstein are accused of it, yet they have achieved and attained what was due. Can then trying to be different ‘be so bad? At least I am all for breaking the mould and try something different. “Follow your heart” – that’s what my professor taught me two decades back!

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Life-music

Have you ever heard-

The rhapsody of tear drops?

Have you ever heard-

The droplets that create silence?

 

Have you ever heard-

The symphony of smile?

Ever heard the sonata-

Tumbling out of breathless giggle?

 

Have you ever felt your heart-

Beating to the music of twinkling eyes?

Your hands clutching tenderly-

The moist song of worm fingers?

 

Have you ever seen life sing,

Without a single word?

Knew the whole story,

Without anyone telling it?

Melt into arms without body-

Flow in tunes without lyrics-

Losing ‘you’ among ‘you’-s-

And finding one note in an orchestra!

 

The life beacons…

Happy(???) Feet

All the love in the world can’t be gone
All the need to be loved can’t be wrong
Oh the hearts all start sing and my heart will keep sayin
Boogie Wonderland, wonderland

@ Paolo Coelho:

My Space at his

End – Begin

 

 

“Meethi, don’t walk so fast! It’s pretty dark out there. Wait and walk with all of us.”

“Its ok Papa, I know the way back home. Don’t worry.”

“But there could be dogs there, wait till I come to you.”

“Then come fast na!”

“Wait a bit beta, Mom cant walk so fast.”

“OK! You come with Mom, I going ahead.”

“But the dogs! They will start chasing you!”

“Where are they Papa, I cant see any!”

“They are there, just around the corner.”

“I am telling you na, they are not there. And if they are, why should I be afraid? I have done anything to them. If anyone should be afraid, then its them. They should be afraid of me. I am already five, I am not afraid of dark or dogs!”

 

She was five and not afraid. May deep down, she knows, papa is there, right behind. Or may be her five years, have not shown her, how things could change; towards where it shouldn’t have. Even when she is right. Even when everything around her is right; it could still turn bad. Sometime we fail to believe in fairies, and they die. And demons take over. Hell raiser returns.

 

Home-works done, the kid with the curly hair, sits on his table. Looking at the ten yard sky visible from his window, he knew the clouds were gathering. He quietly starts building an elaborate grid with the pack of cards. One by one the layers started taking shape. A few more cards left, the anticipation made the breath move slower. He tried to hush the entire room, that all he commands. A quick glance at the grey ten yards, a few more layer added to it, an air of apprehension floating. Two more, may be three… and a gust creeps in, sweeps over the table, and… gone…

 

While rest of his family was enjoying the surf, the kid was oblivious to all his surrounding. Sand is stronger than cards. And he has collected shells and stones to decorate. Red, green and even a few little blue ones. The house was coming to shape nicely. The doorway, windows, terrace, wall around the open space around it. The floor above was also complete. The decorating pieces fell in place one by one. Just to create a drive way.. through the wall, to the main entrance.. he looked up, tried to find out rest of the known faces. He wanted to share his pride. Wiping his sweaty forehead, he pans his eyes around, and a smile was about to break on his lips; he found them. But he felt cold on his feet; it was not smile the tat broke, the surf had silently crept up. The dream was gone… washed out… before he could share it…

 

Bricks are stronger than sand; and definitely more stable than cards. One by one he carried the bricks from the narrow lane to the second floor roof top. One by one he started putting them together. It was not as intricate as the card house. Definitely not half as beautiful as the sand house. But its stronger. The strong roof top wind blowing from the river side couldn’t budge it a millimeter. There is no chance of sea waves creeping up to wash it off. He decorated it with the Shiuli and Jaba. He took his cousins dolls and placed them in it carefully. A few broken branches around it, made it look a bit softer, covering the barren bricks. He ran down the stairs to call his mother, and grand mom. Asked them to leave their cooking for a while and have a look at his dream first. He ran back upstairs, to make sure its still looking as beautiful, till they come. Beautiful? It was already a ruin. Only the fleeting tails of the monkey army gave him the hint. Its gone, once more…

 

She told him, “You looked like an angry kid, sitting in the corner with all doors and windows closed. Cross at the entire world, silent, damp eyes, hands and mind closed.” She was right. And then she came, to open the doors and windows. The light flooded the room, sun kissed his cheeks; Looking at the silken strands, tilted head, angled smile, he stood up; stepped out in the rain; only to look back and see, the wind gushed in through the window, surf washing in through the doors, and monkey army once more running amuck. And he went back to his corner.

 

The smell of the smoke coming out of the soldering iron was heavenly. The curly hair head was leaning onto the circuit board, the gleaming eyes were feasting on the plot unraveling slowly. As the expert hands slowly kept putting the pieces in the exact place, soldering them neatly, like a magician he was putting together the pieces of jigsaw puzzle. Occasionally he was glancing up, to record a view of the master; pride filling his heart for this man he knew as his father. Slowly, a foundation was getting laid. Snapshots and recording of the general, who silently and elegantly took over the roles of chief organizer of kalipujo, tantra-dharak and the leader of the Prasad serving team. The person who always took pride in his innumerable broken bones, yet never taking pride in the selfless eldest son of the family. The person towards everyone looked up, yet when the time came, he silently passed on the mantle. The dependable became the dependant.

 

Looking at the figure smaller than his forearm, lying between his proud parents, he remembered,

“Two little hands and a zillion watt smile
Can make me work like hell and run a thousand mile”

 

Yes its shared, but its there. He needs to treasure each moment. Maybe this is one of those opportunities that life has thrown towards him. One of those small packages, with a promise of a life time.

 

Promises, or were they silent expectations? Unfulfilled desires and dreams, lost in the war of life. In course of delivering the “needed” and “expected” to all around perhaps the very personal “aspirations” were wrapped and tucked behind some unwanted wish list. Just lighting a small candle or hope and prayer, that maybe – just a “maybe” another eldest will take care of them. That “maybe” might have been defeated by another “maybe”. This eldest might not be as capable as the “eldest” senior. And a lot of those tucked up aspirations just fizzled away, unlike the crackers they were bursting a few days back during Diwali. That day, the mute eyes and a clenched fist proudly declared that he fought his last battle with all his heart, and came back from the brink. But he was unaware that the last battle was still left, as he sank back. And this time the face turned only to show a pair of tearful eyes, telling “Sorry kid, I tried my best. I really gave my best shot. But my best was not enough. I lost it. I don’t have another battle left in me anymore. Please don’t ask me for it!” Its me who is sorry. I failed. “Maybe” I didn’t had it in me. You deserved better, much better. I know you dreamt for that peace and love all of your pears were enjoying. And just when the youngest gave you a piece of it, the time was up.

 

It was a bad time. The streams never stopped, not yet by a long shot. The bottle with the blue and pink pills kept popping in and out of its place. The sales of Cipralox saw a steady growth. Many said, 07-08 was worst for a long time. I knew its just another of them. They keep coming back. 91-92, 97-98, 02-03 and now 07-8. Amazing accuracy! It’s apparent, 09 will see the change; one more fight back, another resurrection. Another beginning from scratch. Another buildup, pieces being put together, and a wait for the storm to come and snatch it away. Well, when you are in the battle and still alive, you need to pick up the sword and keep swinging. Just that the kid went back his room, locked up, closed down; this time might not be for the monsoon to come back. His mind-brush keeps painting, a welcome note for 09, come lets begin the fight!!

 

Claw, Crawl, Climb

For The ERO (Eternal Romantic Optimist), the choice is not difficult, its those everyday steps in the darkness that takes it toll. He knows what he wants, his destination never sways, he keeps the snippets of memory flashing across his vision, as he keeps looking for the next step. When all his friends shouts from the other side for him to step into the light, he smiles back. This is not the light he dreams of. His light is much brighter, yet calm. It doesn’t burn but nurtures your vision.

 

He remembers that smile and a faint hint of smile emerges at the corner of his lips, unnoticed by all; and he starts crawling ahead again. Just one prayer in mind, “God please keep her safe and happy till I reach!” He pauses only to gather few drops of life, stored deep inside his eternally optimistic heart.

 

People keeps laughing at him, looking at his improbable journey, they declare him a madman. They laugh at his decision. They laugh at the path he chose. They cant see the destination he keeps looking at. He knows he has made mistakes. He knows he has swayed away from his path. He knows coming back to his chosen path has become harder. Yet he knows that’s the only way forward.

 

“Double or Nothing !”