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.