My stage

It was little blue, may be a little red..I think more of a mixture of both. I could feel the air; pure and unpolluted. For  a long time I was craving for such a feeling. There I was, in the middle of nowhere and on the top. I can narrate you a story of a my life in sixty seconds, or may be less than that. Its not surprising at all because things are in flashes, they are past..recent past, old memories, new dreams, all of them I guess. That is a moment you don't experience often. You are not there on top often you see. 

What have I achieved? Oh ..thats a great question and I shall have a great answer delivered at your door step, well wrapped..in a box with no secret at all. But you cannot return that answer to me. Also it's priceless! The answer is everything and nothing. I know that..is not at all satisfying. Thats crisis. I will tell you a better story. Maya, my favorite girl from the next door is worth mentioning in my story as she is the lead actress in the drama and I take the backstage. I adjust things at the back but she is the one narrating and facing things. 

Maya lost her arms in a car accident. She choose to live and not die in spite of all she had to go through. What about her parents? Uh well they survive but they cannot take care of her. They have injuries from the same accident which have made them forget their own daughter, forget each other, probably forget their own self. She for god's sake remembers her parents. Today, when I see her..I feel she was my best find ever to play the game of life and role of a woman. She uses her feet not just to walk but do more useful things like painting and sketching which fetches her money. You know there's some hope in life if you try hard. She was taken care of by an NGO ..thank god some NGOs work. She was given food and a shelter. She is alive to see her parents but they are in a old age home. Happy to be new beings, forgotten in this big world but happy in their own world. Maya had a gift and that gift was useful only when she lost a part of her body. Her gift is being hopeful and bigger gift is her art. She used to practice using her feet for art as a child. She had a habit of challenging herself, may be she foresaw her life? But she, after two years of inner war with her mind and body feels she is never too late to play a role in my drama. Today she acts in my theatre. She is natural. Her emotions flow. She struggles with gestures because she has no arms but its fine. She manages beautifully. Yesterday, we invited her parents to the play as guests. Maya was happy to act in front of them. We had organised an art exhibition for her too after the play. She is getting recognised in this world. She lost her arms but not her identity. Thank god...or thank Maya herself for that. 

Well why did I start telling the story to you? Oh..it was a part of my memory..flashes, frames, scenes, emotions... I wish I was strong like her. I wish she was my shadow instead of me being hers. She calls me her life because I set the stage for her. I call her my life because my stage will not be set without her aura. She brings hope ..which I have lost it today. I hope she comes and stops me today. Its early morning..I hope she gets up, finds me and stop me. I think I need a push...I am in between the clouds and the sand. I think I will just take a step or wait for her? I hope she comes. I hope she saves me. 

Afternoon memoir

I was sitting next to my large closed glass window, with very light curtains decorating it. The cream coloured  curtains were swaying in the wind like a damsel's freshly washed hair. It felt peaceful that day, quite unexpected in all these years. There was a sudden urge to break open the window, an urge to feel the shattering of glass and the tiny little pieces of it layering the floor, ready to prick you anytime. Transition of thoughts, my god ..its painful sometimes. It makes you purposeless and again full of purpose at the next instance. Anyway, I was just smoking my lungs out..it was great fun to see the smoke circles filling the room. May be I wanted the smoke to go out of the window. But not peacefully. I surely wanted to break that glass window. Probably I should have broken it long back.

I am an artist. My problem is I am always in love. I don't know if thats a problem though- but I feel so. I am in love with my brushes, I love my fingers, I love my canvas, the messy oil, the dripping paint, I love my wife and my life. But as always, there is a 'but'. I feel caged sometimes, caged amongst the feelings of closeness, the warmth and the fury of being a romantic, a war of inert souls within. I am also in love with my past. Now that is what creates the 'but'. I have always felt that a present is because of a past. I could never leave it behind. I can cherish it now. But you see, I still smoke! That is constant from my past. Yes, probably my art too. 

I dropped a lot of tears those days. Yes, I could not have showcased them in front of random individuals. Everyone has those poky judgemental eyes. I am writing about it today. I too loved someone in the past. It was beautiful and then more beautiful and then most beautiful and then I don't know what was it. It just got etched in my memory
 and I flew away, she flew away too. That my friends, was The most beautiful feeling. I thought I lost my integrity, my soul to an individual but mind it. You never lose them. They just blurr out and hey! you again see things clear. My art saved me. I could eat my canvas up any day or night. I could die in front of my paint brushes and not regret. But then life isnt that cruel. I have a competitor now to die for. My life, my wife 'Rose'. She tells me that I am a mad man, a bad man, a cruel man but she still loves me and doesn't leave me for heavens sake! Oh lord can someone tolerate me..now that is something. A feeling which binds me. Once in a while I feel like jumping out of the window and see if I can float free in the air, with birds and trees around. Man, that would be magical.  

Well, I still smoke and I am a romantic. But I am in love with life and I have a predominant urge to be bound than break free or break the window. I do want to break the window for the fun of it..you know as a curious child, irritate my wife and get on her nerves. But I don't want to jump out to die or something. I want to live for my canvas of life. It is not yet filled. It is in the process. It has dark patches but wow, that adds some perspective to the painting and lot of amazement to my little brain. A mere tear drop was actually never mere. It was sinking towards gravity. It had a heaviness and it was let out to flow. It was meant to , to create space for more to form. But fresh ones, of joy and peace, for love and only love of life and yeah for the burnt cigarettes. I will quit but time is not right. I have irritate my wife much more than I do now. She should never forget me even after my death. Thats a promise my friends. A definite one.   

Dreamer

Its a mad mad world
but the dawn is near
I care no more
nor I live in fear

Its a somber I am trapped
in, a tunnel so dark

not to resent I only breathe-in
exhale the melancholy-
the everyday pain
Its a mad bad world
that I not so fit in

Call it a wish or a horse I ride
may I be a romantic or a maniac
dream weaver all day
-chasing a golden dream

Breathing the heavy soot
smoke of a toxin
Hope is not dead and so am I
I await a lustrous sky.

© Kalpita Rashmi. All rights reserved, 2 days ago

The Last Cigarette

Who knows where I burn..

Who knows where I die..

Who knows what is my worth..

Who knows where I cry..

I am the last cigarette..

I know when I lie.

 It was raining hard, like never before. Adithya was done for the day. The usual work, the mundane life and the uninteresting people had provided him with enough reasons to burn his lungs away. He started taking small steps as soon as he was out in the rain. Don't you know the craze of rain here, especially when the whole world is burning in its own ego? He thought, why not a cigarette and some rain drops..sounded quite stimulating to his long deaf ears. He knew how to use his hearing aid. It was the only flexible thing in his life. He could take it out when he wanted to avoid people and be deaf among roaring, meaningless noise and he could as well put it on when he wanted to listen to his own cry or a rain drop!

Year 2003, Chennai. He was an enthusiastic electrical engineering graduate. In a petty win on a friendly bet, he had smoked his first cigarette. It took him a while to sink in his own glory and bask in his own achievement, not to mention in front of his so called girlfriend. It was hard not to show off when he was accompanied by few half cooked minds then, as he himself belonged to the same class, singing the same song and playing the same game. Also, a pretty female in life called for petty decisions and was considered substantial those days. Little did he know then that his first cigarette would be his song of life.

Year 2008, Zurich. Snowfall, bone chilling winter and smoke all around. A lavish job and even more lavish women. Computers, movies, trekking, biking, hiking, photography, sex, mushrooms etc etc. What else could a man ask for..I think he wanted to ask for a vision..which he had lost over five years in a foreign but friendly country. Adithya was one of the most sought after creams of the company. What he lacked was constant excitement towards his own life. He did everything, literally everything to forget who he was but he could only sit and contemplate about his self when he was with one thing..his own, very own cigarette. People made noises about his life, his morality, his intelligence, his flings, his food, his family..even his bowel movements but little was he bothered as he was indulged in his only love in life, his cigarette. It took away lot of things from his seemingly perfect life.  He still choose it over everything and everyone. Somewhere he knew that everything comes with an expiry date. He was too egoistic to admit that he was 'addicted' to this way of living. He was too foolish to burn his respiratory linings and too honest to realize that he would die soon. 

Today, he was back in his own country. In India. In a place where cigarettes were no longer a taboo but a mark of arrogant air. A place where smoking was considered a culture amongst many. Many who didn't know what culture meant. In this place, he left his luxury of Zurich, his luxury of being luxurious, his women who satisfied him but never loved him and he gave them the same-satisfaction but no love. He also left his dreams and ambitions.. as for once he realized that they were fake. They were in the process of making him 'another man in another world'-A make belief world, a foreign dreamer, a patriotic looser and a reluctant individual. Yes, he just possessed one thing, his cigarette. He was an inconspicuous technician in a giant cable company. He choose to be a shadow in his own country. More so because he was running from his own trails of foolishness and possessions. He was engulfed by profound silence, he loved it. He managed to speak less, work more and do the needful. Nothing more nothing less. Enough to make a living and enough to fetch a cigarette for his burning desire to burn even more. 

Soaked in the intoxicating smell of the earth, drenched in his own misery but still walking towards home, he recollected how his parents had died in a car accident by a ramming truck in Madras. The driver's recklessness costed him too much; loaded him with a sorrow beyond repair. His parents were the only assets..he felt, sadly after they left there bodies. People came and left. It was normal but hard for Adithya to gulp every time it happened. A Tiya, a Deepthi or a Seema left his life, for he was a lover of lovers. He never believed in one love. He loved the idea of love. He was in a phase of discovering his body and mind through these women then. He was adulterated with the thoughts of perfection and sea of desires. No fault, no ambition- just love. It was heavenly for him until he actually met someone unconventional. It happened in no time but at the right time. It gave him enough time to brood and enough to renounce. It gave him a purpose to light the next cigarette. She made him what he wanted to be. She whispered in his long ears the words he avoided since his childhood. She burnt him with her faith in him and he felt smaller like a burnt cigarette, for he knew he was not was he was told. He was not her man. He was low, he was addicted, he was uncontrolled and he was fake to top it all. He left her because somehow he genuflected in front of her honest love. He choose the idea 'love is not possessed'. Nothing is possessed. Things should serve the body, people should serve the minds. If it happens the other way round, life is a mess. He was in a mess until he met her and and he was crystal clear when he left her. He was not alone. He was full of purpose. Even burning his last cigarette seemed perfect in his sketchy life.

The raindrops were heavy on his thinning hairline now. They started to rhythm when they fell on his motionless face. He could count each drop and assess its effect. He had his ear machine on. He was aware what was happening around but he was only focused on the droplets and the ever burning cigarette. He said to himself, 'till the last burns.. I walk'. He was combating a worm in his head, big enough to make him blind, go gaga over his unreal life. He wanted to decide soon, either to kill the worm or kill the bearer. It must be a silent death he whispered-it must be a work of art. Suddenly he jerked. He was so absorbed in his own smoke, little did he realize that he almost ran into a mob. A bunch of activists from Southern Mumbai. Thats where he was living now, although he ignored any sort of geographical location being attached to his identity. For him, in the year 2018, it didn't matter where he was. It didn't matter who he was. It didn't matter how many did he burn...an 'n'th or an 'i'th. It just made him aware that he still had some organs intact in a brain dead body. 'These activists are all over', he thought. The noise made his head burst. He wanted to pull out his hearing aid, just then..yes exactly then he saw something beautiful. 

A woman he knew long ago. She was draped in a white saree with red border. It was red as blood and pale as his life. But the person gave the cloth a purpose, an energy he had not witnessed in years. She was speaking for her people, but she was not a part of the mob looked like. She was doing the same thing she did for him fifteen years ago. She was inculcating love in loveless souls. She was trying her best to bring them face to face with reality. She was protesting against domestic violence. She was speaking for her sisters. She was fed up of seeing men drinking, smoking, beating there wives, raping their daughters, killing babies, prostitutes who dreamt out of their world. She was for womanhood or manhood I dont know but I think Adithya understood. She was not on anyone's side. She was fighting her own case. She was trying to build a peaceful place in a filthy pond, but atleast she was trying.. he thought. She was a prostitute when he met her. He went beyond her body in his first account and rest is a puzzle. She managed to escape that world but still connected through her work. She looked mesmerizing in the saree, drenched in torrential rain of her emotions and spirit. He just wanted to hug her and pat her shoulders for living with a purpose- unlike him. He wasted his strong infrastructure and she was just building hers, in her middle age. He inherited his foundation, she achieved it. She fought for it and she was fighting now. 

Moments passed, hours passed and he wanted to pass the mob too. He was stuck to the ground realizing something was immovable. It was his vision, which captured her after long tormenting years. He choose not to let the hours pass but freeze them for eternity. He stood till he could, smoking, sucking, releasing. He saw events as flashes of light; her hands, her hair, her voice in his ears, her smile in a dark dingy room, her smell of honesty, her fearless welcome, her purpose of using her body, everything. She was no different now. She was powerful. It happened again. He saw what he was blinded to for 10 odd years. His cigarette had burnt enough to be only discarded. His empty pocket only rich with cigarette packets now seemed worthless. He moved effortlessly. He understood a basic thing in his life. 'It takes a moment to breathe again'..he smiled. He had to go home and wait for a new day to welcome him. He felt the urgency of a new beginning. A life without the 'last cigarette'. Fresh air, no smoke, no addiction. For the love of love, for the respect of her purpose, for the value running in his blood, for his dead parents, for his fleeting dreams, for the lost man found again- Adithya lived.

Half baked moment.

Symmetry, window panes, two doors and a cot.  A view opening up to a civilization ever growing..non-stop.
A pillow, a pillow over a pillow, a human, a human over a human, a blanket, a blanket over a blanket, two eyes, two eyes over two eyes, inside-out, outside-in, chill, sweat, questions, answers, silence, darkness, dreams and reality. Its all in here, its all in there. A room, a bulb, a filament, a fly, some air and lots of thoughts. Its crazy, its inhuman, its authentic, its fallacy, its fate or its misery. No, its just time and people or no people. No, its just mind and its tricks. Its hunger or satiety. Yes, its only hunger and no satiety.

Maya cooks in this room, she reads, she sings, she draws, she paints, she captures, she dresses, she undresses, she loves and she hates. She misses, she cares, she longs, she weeps, she sleeps, she dreams, she screams and she writes. 'Its all in here', she exclaims. She, after running from everything and everyone possible has found something to rejoice. A small corner in a big world. She always knew she is capable of doing justice to her tormented soul someday and that day is here. 

Today is the day she recalls 'important' for reasons. She hasn't forgotten them, for they were not mere events but made her what she is. This was the day, she knows for sure that made her dependent on art. She started fondling with colours and she became a slave to the empty canvas as she says. She met the man today long long ago. She never fails to look at the sharp contours of the colours connecting to her immediately, when she wakes up from a slumber, a happy one or a sad one or may be just a pretentious one. This day reminds her of the color red. She has a different meaning for 'Red' now which doesnot matter anymore. She is happy, not because she found her day, her colour or her man! She is happy because she has filled her walls with colors, transformed a small corner into a vivid world of craze and vulnerabilities. She is happy because she now understands the anxiety of a hollow human.

Maya and Shubham did brush pass each other many a times but not until one midnight, when they decided they wanted to be friends. Oh yeah, when they meant friends, they actually didn't mean it at all.  It was something different. Something parasitic looked like, later commensals and even later looked like absolute symbionts. They just had to admit it to themselves first and then to each other. It happened, like a sinusoidal wave, high, low, high , low and then I don't know what form it took-unexplainable and undefinable. Life as a form looked more like a book, emotions, drama, 'get-get no want', 'want-want no get' , bla bla. Maya started wirting things about her encounters, her new image in her old mirror, her new pen and old notebook, her new body and old clothes or sometimes new clothes and old body. She didnot know how the hell the world turned upside down in the presence of one man or absence of one man and many thoughts! 

Maya wanted to end her life, a strange feeling isn't it? I thought she was happy or may be her joy wanted to take her life or may be she was still lonely amidst so many appealing views and a mysterious man. Her mind started playing tricks. Shubham may be enjoyed it, may be wanted it or may be he didn't know what he was going through all this time. It wasn't new for him but it was unexpected and that's how he lived his life-unexpected.  Maya died the day he left her in search of answers to questions he created for himself. She died a silent death on the same cot, blanket on blanket, pillow on pillow, chills, sweat, anxiety, tears, darkness and smile. She was not made for 'a Shubham'!

Today I see her in a corner and I am glad that she lies there quietly. I know she is living for the sake of her premature death. She is living to question all her questions. She now knows that there is no 'Shubham' who is the 'only' purpose in her diary. She knows an inside-out has a different context too. She is lost in the symmetry, she tries to grab her cup of peace without any addiction. She always hated addiction. She iterates the words of hope in her heavy head. She is beyond shamelessness, lust or bondage. For her, its a death ceremony, its a thought far fetched, its a distant dream and a life in another world. She desires and she will...

Maya-then and now

Maya vanished into the deep blue agitating waves. She couldn't see the agony around. She could not breathe anymore, the filthy air..full of tears, death, pain, horror. She couldn't do anything but choose to be a part of 'nothingness' and call her brave or I don't know. May be a coward. She didn't care if she would be called names, if she would be remembered or forgotten like a rotten leaf. She just wanted to leave unnoticed. 

She was a peculiar girl. Someone who wanted to see things through her actual lenses, her eyes. But how could she do that when the whole world was busy in painting a dark, grim picture around her. She always had a thing for the unseen. She wanted to build her life around a spider, watch it create its web. Complicated. Although much better seeing a man dying of hunger, a child beaten to death, a woman stripped off her self esteem, a bird caged to death, a puppy crying to find its lost mother. A spider was better. Enthusiastic atleast, just building something. In the circle of life it just entangles itself, one goal as it works for-survival.

She lost the spider when her fellow neighbor wiped few last traces of the web, called it 'dirty'. But she thought 'he' was dirty, inhuman rather. Someone who could not appreciate life and its small healthy world. Though short, everyone has a right to live, love and work. She wanted to just leave the place. Maya loved journeys but she was conflicted too. She wanted to take care of her belongings, her bloodlines back at home. She couldn't do both. She choose to wander for a while. Find some meaning to better hers and others life. She believed in a higher power that could take take care of her loved ones, once she left them.

'Maya' as her name suggests was illusionary. That's what I loved about her. She was never predictable. She wanted to dive into the seas without knowing how to swim. She wanted to jump off a cliff without a support. She wanted to hold her breathe for long enough to turn blue. She wanted to lie on green grass under the blue sky for hours, stagnant. She wanted to capture every speck of nature in her lenses...through her eyes, fill her ever expanding heart with memories. Eat nothing, drink nothing but live with a hope to live. She desired too much but was also aware of her limitations. She wanted to break free.

Maya couldn't find a place of her dream. Every piece of land was occupied by crafty men. The water in the ocean seemed polluted. She could not sustain her urge to dream. She could not be a spectator to floating bodies in water. She was choked to be a part of burnt grass under a dark sky. She wanted to be hopeful. She succumbed to her own insecurities about nature. She was foolish. Maya was foolish. She still wanted to find that spider, engrossed in its own web. May be she wanted to be a part of a better web, a tangled life in a crafty web was not for her. She choose otherwise. She choose to be a part of her own memories. She choose to be a shadow. May be Maya found more in her shadows that in flesh and blood. May be she was happy. May be.

Painting a dream or Not

Its been a nice day so far. Lovely weather, beautiful music and encouraging problems to work with. It was even better yesterday. Hot chocolate, excellent weather and no problems to work with for at least half a day. But does my life succumb to such days, the intricacies of the events, the thoughts behind them or the people in picture? 
I don't know. What I do know is, I love to paint my dream. A dream with colors or in  monochrome, a dream with passion or silence-may be a dream of another dream. If I look back, I see myself as someone who loved discipline, had a peculiar way of surviving things-loved being monotonous. Here I see myself today and I am astonished..how did I survive this way for so long. Being vaguely outrageous but mostly a humdrum existence!
It occurs to me that the scenario will gulp me in future too and I will have no reason to escape. How I fear it all of a sudden. My survival strategy is..just paint. I paint my dreams, in thoughts, on paper, on walls, on cupboards, anywhere...everywhere. Its for me, only for me and for no one. Painting a dream has been horrifying. Imagine something in the middle of the night, unable to sleep-do what? Take a brush and start. Its an experience unexplainable. Its comforting amidst vague thoughts, it gives an unusual strength to live another day-to see how the colors look the next day. Do they exhibit familiar feelings or are they instantly dead the moment you sleep and gain existence the next moment you dream?
It hurts to dream that way, messing my fingers up with colors having no meaning at some point in time. It challenges my belief, my integrity, my strength and also my tomorrow or a tomorrow which is never mine!
I think I am done with such failing or falling moments- painting doors or feeling elated. I need to take charge of my own reality, dream is always a part of it though. I may not paint it, may not even think about it and I know it may just remain a goal far fetched. Still, I would try to cage myself for the sake of clarity. May be someday soon I shall visualize the road, the trees or the sky like I did as a child. I once again shall dance in the rain, care whether or not my feet gets dirty or I fall terribly sick. The sparkling drops touching my eyes and cheeks would reveal all the answers to my naive queries or not so naive uncertainties. I would crave to paint then too, but I wont. Or may be I shall just paint-but without a 'dream'.

Numb Tree

A tree couldn't speak, it was not meant to but to see and be there. A firm and grounded one waiting for passers by. People would always admire the tree for its beautiful branches, the relief during summers, the warmth during winters and protection from the stormy and windy nights. There came men and women, animals, birds, serpents, couples,  loners, pessimists, optimists, indifferent as someone or no one. 

This tree enjoyed varied seasons, strange moods of people and chaos in itself. It shed leaves, it grew greener, sometimes older, sometimes newer-new branches sky high, new leaves sinking under gravity; a fine one it was. The only concern-it could not speak. There was a sense of joy in watching the immediate surrounding being healthy and bubbling with zeal, sometimes with uncontrollable passion. It made the tree alive even though it was grounded...it could still fly high, seek pleasure in being a mere spectator. 

There came a season of bliss. A tree changing its colors was unique-different branches, different shades. All catering to different needs or may be there was no worry of need. The tree never slept, it waited for people to rest under it. It wanted to care for them day and night. It was actually restless. But can a tree afford to experience it? It was grounded. It couldn't run behind its onlookers or admirers. Could it weep if people tried to pluck its leaves or cut its beautiful branches...no..it had to be numb. It had to derive things from the ground, from the sky..to sustain-stand tall whatever may happen. The bliss was an unstable one, but stability for a tree was a dream. It had faced extreme fluctuations in the wind, the wrath of furious sun and how could it blame fellows for being unstable! ..it had to help them. It was there to care, for shelter. It felt the numbness building up, filling its trunk with fear-its integrity was challenged.

To this day, the tree exists with its eyes wide open and numb branches. Sometimes figures arrive, rest and go. It waits for another bliss. But may be this time there is some expectation. Something from itself, not from the beings. It knows that it is equally alive as others. It just has to suck it in, from the roots-breath fresh air. It may not fear being on the edge and watching its roots loosing grip. The soil is loosing its hold..rain, storm and all of them conspire. But the tree has time to contemplate. May be today it can't chase or choose who may come and rest. May be tomorrow it might die and re-grow into a beautiful bird, free..for itself and meet similar beings who care to fly independent...may be its a wish.

You Win if you feel so.

When the world is busy crying for more, some do really know the worth of getting something. Especially women who have been struggling to a make a mark in this so called advanced and 'fast' society which I really doubt. Everyone is struggling at his/her own front to be at peace. Achieve things in life, be proud, make immediate-loved ones and neighbors proud. But has one ever thought how arduous it could be sometimes to even convince the very fact that you need to study. 

Yes, I have seen many in my extended family who were given options to study, rather educate themselves-they didn't choose that path and yes ironically there were also women who desperately wanted to do something in life, study hard, make there presence felt-but failed. Blame it on time or the situation. Its till hurts to see some talents getting rusted, lost in time. But they choose that, out of whatever reason and today they stand successful in there own front. They make a house complete and may be someone's life complete too...that's there pursuit of happiness.  It brings tears to my eyes reading or listening to stories or incidents where lot of women today are unable to jump-off that so called high boundary of or society which begins at your own level of a small 'family'. They despite of being industrious, are being labelled as marriage commodity are being dispatched to other places ...the fad being out of country. You see going abroad with an NRI husband is really a great deal!  It sounds more like an achievement, where you may have to cook for life but ya not in India but in NY may be.

On the other hand, there has been a couple of incidents and nowadays with some support and a lot of effort a handful of them do succeed in getting educated. There enthusiasm is so convincing to their parents that they break all barriers..small ones but hard enough to stop your evolution. I have seen women going against their parent's will and performing extraordinarily well in India and abroad, especially when they were forced to get married and they somehow managed to get out of it. I feel happy about that. At least there potential is being justified and same parents feel proud talking about it all around. 

It does take guts and strength and faith of few great people in life. A teacher, a friend, a well wisher may be, a motivation from a simple thing, anything but yes faith in yourself being the modifier of everything. No matter how the mob around makes you feel, portrays you like you are no one and do not fit into the Men's logical world, you realize what you went through, where you cried and stood up for yourself and how hard it was for you to even face the society including you parents. So someone who answers back, a tit for tat for all those who never appreciated your strength but criticized ..not for the good, has truly achieved what she aimed for. When you can smile at the non-existent natives,  the ever complaining beings and still do what you have been trying to-you win and from then on your life starts. I am proud of such people and see myself and my experiences somewhere in this all along.

Hollow victory

Hollow smile,
fake and drowning-
Renunciation.

He stares, as a child.
I see the day light,
wait for it to die.

Tears, colours
all together they
dance on my floor,

and I let him
dance too, in my
garden, the spring-

blooms, glowing
and trying to make
me happy, Laugh

at my misery.
The buried lives
become visible.

Obscure, alive-play
tricks on mind
like a five year old

Playing with mother.
There is love, hate
anger-love again.

What have I done
to learn this game!
Or is it something else?

The warmth, the fire
the touch, the prick
the trance, the gloom.

All of them burnt
into pieces or ashes.
They will not rise

Again in this spring.
the smile will be 
still, rejuvenating.

No pain, embracing
beauty and clarity-
No judgement I say.

I.C.U

I wonder many a times about the things/people/places I like..is it because I see a reflection of my own? 
 Or is it something that I am missing in myself that I admire in another person, the peace I miss within-I seek in that place or the thing I can't possess, I love it....

They do puzzle me at times. If I am fond of someone's work, is it because I feel I can never do it..or because I love to understand what people do around me, something which I don't do but can appreciate. I like someone (guy/girl) for 'n' number or reasons-every reason is significant and consequential in its own right. Is it because I am like them or I am not! Is it I vs Me or is it simply that 'I' love 'Me'?

Does that mean that this reflective love will fade away, once I find my answers or will it never fade as I shall not stop loving myself and hence may be people..! The colors I fill into a shape I created on a paper is just my thought-a blind thought or does it have to mean something all the time, I don't know. I would love to cry and cry to love something is because its my character or it is what it is..Me. Is it purely driven and governed by my own idiosyncrasies or it has 'more' to it-I am yet to discover.

If  I and Me are different, does my world fall apart, do I stop caring, loving or admiring people. Do I become loner from being alone or do I still exist the way I am meant to or want to.. Am I still seeing my reflection on someone's face and smiling, conversing and comforting thinking that its Me or is it just that this part of me is actually a missing something fulfilled by a person, a place, a color or an object?

I am in love with these questions too...they are encouraging enough to take over life in an unseen manner, as an adventurous journey. I don't know at what cost but at this moment they are beautiful and as honest as they could have ever been. They energize me when I burn out after a day's work or after a sleepless night, they poke me when I see 'myself' being a rock. They kill monotony and make me alive. I need to find the answers..until then I know 'I  C (see) U (you)'.

Retrograde phenomena.....

Its been a while that I peeped in, I do realize ...I had to be here. Couldn't stop myself finally.

So, where do we begin today. We shall speak of something different...especially after all those mind boggling talks, high-fi Science so as to say and the heavy-on-head discussions. I think I ought to switch gear. Hope so.

Every night before I go to bed , I ponder over few things. Very simple as they may sound... like 'what has made me smile today'..was that significant, was it for a while or was it long enough to make me crave for even more...
To my surprise I find that most of the times its trivial, irrelevant or insignificant things or even unrelated events that make me happy. Well that's not completely out of the box but yes smiling and being momentarily happy has become a concern in life looks like! Hence I am talking about it I guess.

The thing is, when we really run after a lot of reasons, people behind those reasons or circumstances which make us happy, we at most times by-pass these inconsequential events and ignore the bits and pieces of everyday life. My god! these pieces really make a big smile! As a child you never think of reasons which make you happy. You want it you get it or fight for it. Yes you don't question your beliefs, you satisfy your need. A need as simple as getting the latest bubble-gum in the market or collecting trump cards and showing off in front of your classmates. Oh I did that...it made me really happy those days. That's the beauty of growing up or the curse of growing old with experience may be.

If I actually know myself, I would say that a mere leaf which is just so 'green' makes me so happy that its beyond my comprehension. That leaf takes me through lot of emotions...the positivity of it growing, the vibrancy of that color, the freshness, the anger that it isn't really fit to grow there, among those weeds. Its a tremendous transformation from an indifferent human being to an emotional but not so illogical human being. I am simply amazed. I am not sure what does it take to really feel those things but it does have an impact.

On the other side, when you still want to be connected to the world; there is an equal urge to isolate yourself and go through every possible ups and downs in life. May be the leaf and I, where the simplicity and innocence of that naive living thing reminds me of my own childhood, could survive symbiotically. No man or woman would be allowed to dominate your thoughts. Only you and the beauty co-exist. We smile and fill our days with life and energy. What I feel is, its not easy to cling on to one thing and be happy about it or derive bouts of joy and smile. Its an unconscious effort that at least 'I' need to make to be as a child. Its not a day's job and the irony is ..we evolve..and this evolution is not slow. Its fast ..may be every hour, min or even second!

I have my illogical view points to laugh at, logical arguments to be proud of or artistic approach to my life ...its always mine. I would cherish every bit of it being eventful, dull or indifferent. But a day has to arrive which would call me a fool for letting go all those missing links, inconspicuous times, irrelevant people and illogical observations which could have made my life worth living. I don't know if that has arrived already or very near, I fear and at the same time I welcome it. I wait for it for my own good. For all that I am existing, for the love of being myself, I would embrace it and never let it die..there will be no night for such a day. 

It would be 'Experiencing Beauty'...uninhibited.
 

Idealism of Null and Void

I thought I would not write anything this time, creates a dependency of expression on a blank sheet. But then whom am I fooling, its my life, my feelings, my blank sheet and my thoughts..why should I be feeling dependent! I am for myself and then can I be of any good to myself or whoever comes across.

For a decent part of my life, I was under the impression that things and people can be ideal, at least to my eyes if I am being ideal again to myself which means whatever idealism I defined for myself and much influenced by parents and society. But on this day I do not feel hesitant confessing that Idealism of null and void is the only predominant truth and there may be suffering but at least its not fake. Its the only thing which makes me as I am and differentiates me from what I was.

I, for instance have had very few things in life to regret about or feel guilty as I had been dwelling in  self-defined cocoon and its protection which to an extent I still do. It doesn't change overnight but eventually it will die, for the good I hope. A recent accusation that I see things ideally and hence become selfish in my own right and can only feed my ego and ambition, left me puzzled if it was true. I feel it is to some extent and it will be until I break the protection and let myself experience all that I can. Hurt, get hurt, stand, run, serve, care and love...its all a part of the schedule and time table of my life. The only belief which is challenged every time I want to stand straight, is an unknown and undefined feeling of companionship at times..a void in terms of dependency and a need sometimes to break the monotony of being lonely. Its not a big problem as I might see it sometimes just because I am being questioned by myself, but its a fact and I certainly have to accept it as things move. 

People say when you leave your 'I' you achieve the much awaited peace, but my intuition says that you can be peaceful with your 'I' always at its place and Self-less when you deal with the ones you care about. It comes as a free gift, I mean the peace when you realize that your I only leads to identifying the other human you are concerned about and its the same I which lets you become self less. Nothing in the world can equate with that negotiation or no negotiation when two individuals, the giver and the taker are together. No matter how hard things might look or be as well, expression will be easy..may be a simple silence. Its peace and everyone of us have our own perception in this matter. This is purely mine. 

So, today if I see someone suffering, see myself suffering or see my parents suffering because of me or not because of me..the only thought that prevails is if I can be of any good to each one of them including myself and for that what I require only is 'Clarity'. A choice as to what will make me happy. Am I ready to ruin my life for something or someone or am I actually learning things with every phase and what is the feeling associated with each one of them. I can leave behind a lot of things but as I see myself is one heck of a female who at most times puts herself in others shoes and feels things. Well for that I needn't bind myself to only few but to all unrelated humans who at some point in time will need me, my presence and I  too might get it back or might not..

A giver, who just wants to breathe easy...let people come and go and take what I have to offer.. if at all they want, or get their share of peace. I will get my share out of it. I no more feel the need of complicating my own perspective. A beginning after every end and an end after every beginning is the ideal process. I am no one to deny it. I live right now with the idealism of null and void.

Virginity...of the untouched

Soft, surreal and delphic...the touch and the thought of the untouched. Did you loose it?
Yes, I think you did, with all the consciousness and faith in yourself. But its the soul, not the flesh and blood. The origin of a naive imagery of a wave, an intellectual wave drowned you and you, ignorant of swimming managed to be alive. You know why...because it touched your soul and how the hell could a soul even associate itself to life and death!

The wave, in varied forms tested the stability of your thoughts, proceedings in your mind and always posed a threat to your existence but still you managed to sail through. You know why...because you inherently wanted it...so badly that it seemed natural..a touch like untouched. It couldn't deter your 'Self' as it approached hard making you loose your virginity ..of your soul. It still didn't matter, couldn't inculcate a sense of guilt. You know why....because you loved it. You hated it too. You never broke down and stood strong facing it. You lost it, but you always won it. 

The stretch of the arms, the penetrating eyes, the enigmatic face and the painful questions surrounded you just to make you run faster than never before..to save you from the ominous destination. You didn't embrace it. You killed it, for the sake of the wave's integrity and for your conviction. You created a mirage of disarray, may be a reflection of an affectionate yet powerful being. You lost it. The wave taught you that reflections are always reflections...mirage is a mirage and reality is always reality..no matter how fast you run or stand still forever. 

I am proud that you never cared..the sky, the wind, the earth and as a whole the nature conspired against the unison of souls...there was storm, it was dark and windy..so dark that the shadows died painful death..still you were awake. Waiting to loose it, to feel the oracular..feel what you were destined for. Yes you lost it..the virginity ..of the untouched.  

     

Maya

Maya sits there in one corner of her room. Holds a string, keeps pulling it, wants to stretch it without realizing that its just a string, it can't be stretched like an elastic! But she does try, every day and night with a dead hope that it will and that day she would sleep peacefully..

Its her thirtieth birthday. She wears the same gown she always wore on her birthday since her twenty-fifth. She hasn't put on weight in these five years, rather lost some..easily fits into the now over sized gown . Still holds the string, seems to be waiting for someone or something. A question on her mind, sometimes a void and sometimes a vicious smile while observing that strange string irritates me. What is she thinking! why hasn't things changed around her or its a deliberated effort to keep her surrounding meaningless. Don't know. She seems to wait for a call as the phone is at the corner of the room and she sits quite close to it. Every time there is a faintest sound, I can see a spark in her eyes. It dies even faster than her breathe. She never speaks about her gown or b'day or anything. I am curious as to why her name is Maya when she seems so dull. I may have to wait till she wants to speak up or she won't i don't know.


The phone rings on her thirtieth b'day at 11:50p.m. It rings for quite sometime till she picks it up, not allowing me to go for it. She is shocked at the continuous sound when it rings as if she had never heard a ring before. She has become weak, may be because she doesn't eat well and sleep well. She doesn't allow her parents to care for her and its a painful sight when they want to take her back to her bedroom and make her sleep. Seems like she doesn't belong to this world anymore. But now I see some lost enthusiasm in her when she holds the phone. I wait for her reaction after the conversation. But there is no conversation, she listens to someone puts back the receiver as if there was no call at all. 

She struggles to go back to her room but manages to reach the door. Again goes to the corner of her room, leaves the door open for me to see what is she upto. I watch and I just watch. She pulls the string, again..harder and it breaks. She cries, cries her heart out till she isn't able to anymore. A silence and then goes to her table, takes out a diary and a pen, scribbles something and tries to sleep. 'I knew you will never come back'..that's what she writes. I don't sleep that night, just watch her sleep. She sleeps because she has no reason to be awake, the reason for which she waited years is no longer there and she is tired. I watch her. I feel I am seeing myself, my own reflection. 


Maya on her 25th b'day wears a beautiful gown, waits for his call. The phone rings but its not him, its from a hospital and he is admitted, a stroke what he fights for. A partial paralysis and subsequent loss of memory. She knows what he is been doing. She was and is helpless, what she knows is she doesn't want to leave him at any cost. Maya meets him at the hospital. He smiles and tries to wish her. He gives her a string..a string he pulled out from one of her gowns when they were intimate, he had kept it close to him ever since. She takes it, identifies herself with it and says she will wait. She speaks without words that she will accept what's in-store and watches him as he sleeps. She doesn't sleep after that night. And today she sleeps like a child. 

I just hope she is alive or my hope is against hers..i don't know.

She..

She is silent and she had to be. Standing on the rocks enduring the midnight breeze isn't easy for her, but she still stands there just to see how much can she take and drink it all. She knows what is happening to her body and soul but she denies to see it and feel anything. It isn't meant to give her pain but a sense of achievement, a sense strong enough to make her smile at everything around. She knows she loves to hate things and hates to love even more. It didn't come naturally to her! It was through a journey, a kind which made her quite like 'she' is now. 


Everything is a first time sometime, everyone is a stranger at some point of time and she with all her consciousness knows it so well that now it doesn't matter anymore. How much or how little was never a question in her life..she just wanted to keep dilemma's at bay..but is it ever possible in life with all the womanhood she has!


She decides to conquer all her fears when she is low, so low that she fears she might sink into it and just get lost in the nature. Its not a simple realization..its way deeper than I ever thought. Its subtle but dangerous...and who doesn't like adventure...and pain...She rather loves it and just stands there every night, either silent listening to her breath or whispering, getting aware of her existence or sometimes weeping...celebrating her victory over her fears...


I know she will survive even though from my perspective I can see her at the brink of a crisis..she might fall off the rock and die..but that's just my way of seeing it..I am sure she isn't falling...she never was weak and she never will sink. I feel her strength when she just looks at me...blank, with dispassion and I get it...She is on her way fighting and moving fast...very fast.