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Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Happy Birthday to You and Me

People who have been reading me (there are very few of them, though I seek more people, to share stuff with) know what I write, when I write, why I write and how I write. For someone reading me for the first few times, it might not have yet struck. For them, let me say a few words:


I do not write to showoff my literary skills. My poems, whenever I have written them, are a direct consequence of my state at that moment. I do not know various poetic transforms, and neither am I much interested in them. For me, blogging is a platform of plain and simple writing, unlike many for whom it is a platform to caress their authorial ego. Not that I don't like high flown poems or prose, but I feel a substantial part of it is born out of a fucktard's ego. Also, this should not be mistaken for me not knowing people who write excellent language. I have such friends, and I really respect them, because, I am sure, I do not stand anywhere near to their capability of weaving magic with words. I am a simple shepherd who knows where his sheep are heading to, and where to get the daily fodder from. He does not care how they look like. So, as far as I am concerned, I just write what I feel. And I write because it gives me peace and satisfaction. Nothing more, nothing less.

Anyway, this post highlights a lesson that I learnt today. I must say, I have been pestering myself to learn some new things, like a language, an instrument etc. from the past two months, and all I end up learning is this lesson. A lesson which defines where I am wrong in my life. 



Today, my kid brother celebrates his 20th birthday. I am not used to being home during his birthday because for the past 5 years, I have always been in Dehradun. This time, however, I was at home. I kept a reminder yesterday for 11.30 pm, to remind me that I have to wish him exactly at 12. Along with that, I also kept a reminder that I have to put some clothes for wash. Both reminders went off perfectly. I would not write on how much I am dependent on reminders, but why I am so, would probably be understood from the rest of the post.

I woke up today to the roar of the rain. Before I knew, my brother was ready to go out with his friends to a distant water park. We completed the Pooja according to the rituals and had breakfast. Mom left for office. In a moment, he too, sprang up and was ready to leave. His ever smiling face and the sumptuous contentment on it suits him. He left, and me and Dad had the full day beckoning us. We went upstairs, and got busy. He with books, I with sleep.

I must brief you about my present scenario here. I am about to join my first job in a month, have one of my dearest exams coming up at the same time and have been like this for the past two months. I am fostering fierce desires of accomplishing several hobbies, like learning the guitar, and several others, for the past three months, and have achieved only 40 percent of it. To equate this to my inefficiency would be somewhat wrong because when you are inefficient, you hardly realise it, and you can't do much about it as it is instilled in your basic framework of nature. This, however is an epidemic spread in me. I am pretty much conscious and aware of the fact that I am not doing anything when I have to do so much, but alas, it doesn't seem to get sorted out. This consumes all my thoughts and energy in entirety, making me think fucking intensely and ceremoniously for the past so many days and months, throbbing my mind with grief, frustration, confusion and apathy, and I end up criticising myself every night and sleeping with an unhappy heart and a splintered mind.

Now, why did I narrate this. This is because today, as like other days, my thoughts were fluttering incessantly since I woke up at around 1 pm. I began studying, had lunch and again studied for two hours or so. Then I talked on the telephone. Then I began thinking what to do next. I ended up reading a magazine that had been on my fucking "too-due" list. I managed to get hold of the guitar for some time, and again ended up thinking that "I could not use my full potential today" and submitted to the despair and went downstairs for dinner. 

Post dinner, my mom calls me in the kitchen and says "You did not get a card for him. You were at home the whole day. Wo hamesha lata hai sabke liye. It's still 9.30pm only". 

And fuck. I lost it. In all my "soul searching" and crap I forgot to buy the kid a gift. I took the keys of the car, and let me tell you, all the way from putting the ignition on, searching frantically for one damn shop to be open, finalising on his dream deo, getting it packed from a Cake Parlour and coming back and putting the ignition off - I was just wondering and cursing myself as hard as I could.



Only because of my shitty thoughts, I am preoccupied every moment. Only because of my perpetual frustrations, I hardly think of anything else. On being inquired, I shamelessly resort to the reason of my studies (which even I know is hardly anything, because I am just all alone the whole day) and my routine going haywire. Not that they are not important, they are. And I would continue with them, because I have a frigging exam coming up. But the world does not end there. 

I feel addicted to these thoughts. They just don't seem to go away. Every moment, I feel like I have lost out on my target and this develops stress beyond what you can even imagine. What you can imagine, rather should imagine, is that I am living with all this for the past several months. Every single day. Imagine my state of mind. Although, even with such fiery helplessness every moment, I have maintained my apparent sobriety. 

Why do we think? Why do we even allocate a tiny bit of our daily life to worries? If not for those idiotic confusions happily playing with my sanity every fucking day, and making me confident of being a psycopath, I would not have forgotten to buy him a gift. A small gesture of love, but makes a big difference when you don't make it. It is not worth to worry when you miss out on the essentials that your life is supposed to be made of. You might not be happy with your today, but that does not cost you much. What costs you a fortune, is if your "today" is not happy with you.

Our lives are getting shorter by the moment, and idiots like me spend the time worrying. I don't profess "Live-carefree-and-enjoy" theory. That looks amicable in books, and should remain embedded there only. When you are talking of actual life, it does come with a host of pressures and problems. All I am thinking now is that all those pressures and troubles should not secretly nibble and gnaw down the real moments of life. Those things, that would run like a slideshow in front of your eyes when you would be gripping strongly to your bed in your last few breaths, or if lucky, to the hand of someone close.



( To my kid brother, I would not say sorry to you. For it's not my fault as neither you nor I were used to being together on your birthday for the past five years. But yes, I am surely thankful for this day as I learnt something of importance you can't realise. )

Thursday, August 9, 2012

A Letter to Ms. Life

Dear Ms Life,

First of all, do not take the use of "Dear" literally.

I am here to write to you about certain things that I have in me, but deserve to be on your face. This letter in no way is a reflection of what I show to you on my outer self. This is something that's embossed deep in subconsciousness. You do not see that, because it's hardly visible. What is strange is that you do not even make a feeble attempt to see it.

Anyway, let's start off. I would like you to take note of a few things that you might not know about me. I am a person, who has a huge world of his own around him. I am not a favourite of the group. I am not the talk of the town. And I do not attempt or even fractionally wish to become that. I am happy with myself and the pool of buddies I have. Umm, actually not really happy. You hardly let me be. 

When I am home, I have parents around. I know they love me beyond measures. I have been raised like a normal boy should be raised. In fact, I would like to say it was just a lot more than that. This is because, when a mother gives birth to her child, she never expects anything to go wrong. My mother and father also did not expect anything unforeseen. But, alas, you failed them (and me) at that moment itself. So, the effort that is required for a normal couple to raise their child could not prove enough for my parents. It took my mother around double the time, and a jobless time I must say, to raise me to the level other kids get raised in half that time.

My schooling was a bumpy ride in the beginning. Nothing could prevent me from being treated like a second class citizen at school at the beginning. Kids, seniors, juniors and even the damned faculty ensured that I succumb to their remarks every day after school. All thanks to you, for bringing me as a different in this world. Still I moved on. Things improved upon at later stages of my school life, like around class 9th. A shocker as this might be to you, but I did exceptionally well. Also, in class 10th. Class 11th saw me taking Biology as my optional. As it is known famously, the academics grilled me to the core in that class, and I lost sheen as a classic performer. I picked up in class 12th, but the performance was meagerly well. All this time, apart from academics, I had firmly set foot at basketball and singing. I passed out school with an image of an all rounder. 

And there, you woke up. Probably you could not bear my fight to what you did to me at my birth. You could not understand how I could pick myself up from the bottom and get to the top. So you decided to mess yourself up for me. 

Being a medical aspirant, I had my only focus at medicine as my career. I must tell you, as you might already know, that we are not of any Ambani or Tata or Gates descent. We also are not extremely deficient in resources and facilities. A middle class, or probably just upper middle class family you could say. So, with a restrained hand, I was financed for my coaching classes. But alas, as you had woken up, you made it sure I do not make it to any medical school, whatsoever. So I couldn't. Not that I am blaming you completely for it, but this was what happened. And you were right there, watching me. Next, you taught me good lessons during the year I dropped to prepare again. I learnt a good part of my lessons during that time. Alone, with all my friends joining different colleges, I had to hide you from the world. You were not looking any beautiful at all.

Second attempt, I cleared five exams. But then, I got a good alternative of a different course. I joined that. A good decision I must say. And I ensured that you changed your attire and start looking beautiful. You tried that, and I could feel you. You smelled good. You felt good. During my college, you were somewhat ugly in the beginning, but later on you decided to give me some respite from your apathy. You turned to being awesome. And I fell in love with you.

I stayed away from home for the 5 nearly perfect years of my college. I loved coming back during the vacations. However, you did not let me feel that you were conspiring of an entirely different agenda for me under my nose. The welcome and the stay at home used to be like in a perfect family. That was because it used to be short, though this was left for a later date for me to realise it. Nothing was in a disarray. Five years passed like breeze. After securing an excellent placement in a well reputed company, half of my goals were achieved. You brought me as a less fortunate in this world. But I, being the most different from the crowd, grew to become the most sought after.

However, your agenda came to surface later on. It has been 3 months now that I am at home, waiting for my joining which would be another 2 months later. I did not realise that staying away from home, from my parents, and my younger brother who was not unfortunate like me at birth (Touchwood, God forbid), would change the affection that I got from them. The point of view that my family had towards me, changed to  slightly formal. Today, when I stand in front of them I feel less loved. Living on my own, struggling on my own, I rose to achieve what I never thought I would. This probably developed a habit in me of fighting on my own, losing on my own and winning on my own. So, it was like staying on my own. But I feel, as if staying away from them, made me more separate, rather than more self reliant. I am looked at as if living in "Secrecy" than living on my own. My brother does not experience any of such vibes at home. He is relaxed and he is dealt with relaxations. I, being the elder son, is dealt with reservations.My social networking sites, are casually surfed by them. They later on tell me that what ever they do, they have done it in their life and that they are totally cool with it. I  don't have a problem with them peeping in, but I have a problem in the fact that I abuse there, I have fun with my college people and you don't abuse in front of your elders do you? So when they read that, it feels really awkward. The issue is, why this curiosity in my life, why not my brother's? I am questioned every now and then. I have no idea why. You are becoming nasty again, and believe my, I am not liking that even one damn bit.

Which card did you play now? I had won over all the troubles you threw at me, and now this is such a confusing move you made. Now how do I get around you? Why do I feel strange with my own family? This is a great deal mind you, because they matter to me. Like, a lot.

Here, I must admit that I am saying this because I am feeling this. It might be true, it might be false. I know my mother. She still gets berserk even if I have a simple headache. My Dad, is still bossy over if I do something wrong. If he would have not cared, he would not have uttered even a single word. Then why am I made to feel this disconnection? Why am I made to feel that I have done a big wrong, or have even sinned for that matter of fact? Why am I treated with suspicion? Why can't I just be loved like always? 

I do not know if you would be able to answer all this. And as trifle it might seems, it is not. Come, wear my shoes. You'll feel the bite. I love them beyond infinity, and probably they also do. But I am being pushed in the corner. I am being sidelined. You have been one tough ride, and I feel good to have been able to win over the troubles you forced down my throat. But I cannot live with ignorance of the loved ones. I don't care about the world, and I live in my own. However, there are some people who are bound to your breath. Without whom, you cannot imagine your existence. For me, my family is that. 

So, if it's really hard for you to feel what is being cornered suddenly, what is being ignored and what is losing your place, just imagine when your rival, Ms. Death comes knocking at your door, displaces you of your throne, and shows you the middle finger. That's how I am feeling right now.










Monday, July 23, 2012

Being The Less Favourite

I really have no idea how to put this across. I don't even know whether writing this would be right or wrong. All I know is, its hard to keep it in. I had to vent it out. So here I go.


Sometimes you end up questioning yourself, where did you go wrong? Why is it that the people around you; mind it the same people whom you love from the bottom of your heart, subject you to griefs which seem humanly impossible to get dissolved? Why, in this whole world, you feel targeted? Not that you are the only son, or the only one, yet you feel the elbow of disgrace, poking you in the gut, and asking you to step out, become the odd one out. And you do that, because the moment you retort, you are seen as an insensitive and ill mannered human, who doesn't respect the "pragmatic" views of elders. So, you remain mum, and bear the  shelling of the circumstances. And this is repeated over and over again. You are asked questions, doubts are raised,  there is interference in your dialogues and you are forcibly cornered. 


All this when a person of a less age, less qualification, less prominence and less awareness is loved more by the same people. Its like, in a college, when the super seniors  lash out at the seniors in front of their immediate juniors. You are the one who is doubted. And its painful. 


But still, you live and breathe. Because, "Subah hoti ha, aur sham hot hai, zindagi mere dost yahi tamam hoti hai.."

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Wings That Bleed

~~~

The pen that struts of my feelings,
Carries along a pompous lie,
Because my ambitions are mashed by perpetual thoughts,
And thus, the wings that bleed, can never fly.

~~~

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

A 99% True Love Template. Rest Don't Fall In Love.

When I know the title of what I am going to write, it usually turns out to be a concrete piece. Here, today, I somehow attempt to put together a template of how a relationship, a "serious" one traverses its path. I know, the content is going to be wronged by many, but I would like to submit that all this is merely my sole observation of the various relationships around me, that have been, or are existing. Somehow, all this is common in all, and its pretty surprising! Not that I don't believe in love, but even after sharing a common frame, I hear of  "true" love every second day.

Anyway, I would begin in the typical Bollywood style. For me its unfair to tag it "Bollywood Style", because its common sense, that those who make films never held a camera immediately after exiting the womb. Nor did they fall in love on the first day of their life. They, obviously, had seen it, probably gone through it, and then only made a self reflection of it, and called it a movie. So, even though we say Bollywood is not real, it is based on some form of pragmatic experiences. 

So, these two people meet. Love at first sight, maybe not. But they like each others vibes. They begin by exchanging a pen, or maybe some notes, or maybe a seat on an airplane, or any random instance that brings them close enough to talk face to face. And there it ends.

Yes, ends. The normalcy ends. The simplicity of the time ends. A second, is no more a second, its probably an hour if they are away from each other. And its probably a thousandth part of a moment, if they are together for a coffee. The naive hair seems to be a bone of contention with self satisfaction about how they look in the mirror. No, its not one sided. Both the hearts are equally plunged deep into the abyss of affection.  Both are about to experience a world unseen, a feeling altogether alien. 

Months pass, and meetings have happened. Uninterrupted phone calls are a daily affair. Few outings as close friends have resulted in good pictures. And suddenly one fine moment, a phone call at night, transforms into the birth of an entirely two different beings! Confession happens and is followed by the best giddiness both ever experienced. Life seems to be the best at the time you are in love. It feels like every moment, you need the person with you. A sudden connection to someone entirely unknown, makes you feel weak in the knees. Smiles are exchanged and all fears seem timid in front of the deluge that the heart sinks into.Some weeks pass, and the first kiss happens. Hands are held, and the world seems the best place to be in. Hugs happen, and intimacy grows. Eyes are the most addictive thing for them. The bodies fuse, and a promise of eternal love seems to be made.

Months and months go by. Phone calls are still a daily affair, but somehow, its not the same as it was that day, the first day. Two cups of coffee are still brewing on the table between the two hearts, yet the warmth is missing. However, the feeling remains strong still, and a few days out of contact, renders the heart trembling, as if without oxygen. Struggling, falling, picking the ego up and leaving behind self respect a million times, the souls entangle yet again into an unbound love. Or is it addiction?

Years go by. The coffee turns cold and the phone is switched to the airplane mode, even while watching the TV at home, or working in the kitchen. The makeup fades away, and its the same shirt of the previous day. Its monotonous. Its not like it was supposed to be, like the first day, the first smile, the first look. It turns to a daily affair. Suddenly, two human beings, earlier with unmatched compatibility develop disagreements on the most trifle issues. Arguments grow like a money plant, hugging the ego and the self respect. Snide comments and mind games are a daily affair now. Phone calls, seem to be like a burden. Irrespective of the past, the present seems to be poisoned. The air seems to choke them to isolation, yet isolation suddenly appears to be a better state to be than this insanity. Games for avoiding the other occupy the brain, instead of the mushy feeling of closeness of thoughts. Frustrations and gambles with ones own heart increase, and the other won over heart of the partner in them seems to be a waste. And so, one fine day, one of them decides to throw the won over heart of the partner away, and moves towards a "better life". The other is left battling the suddenness of the situation, which eventually, some or the other day, submits itself to the wholesome and the Zeus healer: Time. 

Few more years pass by, and the two souls who once went to the same school of thought, are now separate.  "Two bodies one soul" is now "Two bodies no soul". Life moved on, both the hearts now beat separately. In two different corners of the world. And one day, one of them, comes to know that the other heart has now a different partner. Anguish flows through like a searing arrow, and yet, the discomfort is accompanied by the strength to bear the pain. The strength, provided by the pain. Months pass without even thinking about each other, and on their birthday, they wish each other. For the hurt, hope begins to loom large. For the one who hurt, its nothing new. And so, the end is actually not the end. The hope and despair are always a part of the times. Even after several years, a random conversation brings the past again. The end again. Yet, the one who killed it, gets over it and laughs, and the one who was killed, just smiles. The coffee thus, was spilled forever. 




PS: Its as concise as it could be. Zillion variations are possible, and thus, no offence to anyone. 


Saturday, July 7, 2012

Voice

Oh, its dark again,
And I, the only one, who remains.

Oh, its late at night,
And again I the one who mediates the fight.

Oh its the lonely time,
No friends no foes, only a shadow of mine.

Oh, its the shining star,
So near, yet so far.

And so I lie, in the bed of hope,
A hope to live just one more hope.


Saturday, June 23, 2012

Mantra

Soon, you would be tired too. You would lose all the vengeance. Soon, you would fall down. Every moment cannot be fought with. The sould needs to breathe. It needs to rejuvenate from constantly being marred by your heart, your mind, your own priorities, your relations and your incessant thoughts. Its highly improbable, that your soul is not tired. A man, is made of life, and life is not of you its of the soul. You are only a form, like a form of a caste. The idol, the mask is made later on. Love, is not felt by you. You, are never in love, your soul is. Its not a vaguely defined phrase, or a randomly conceived expression, i.e., heart and soul. It is the heart and the soul that loves, that hates, that cries or laughs.

Give it rest. Seek your life as calmly as you can. For, the goals never finish, however the zeal to accomplish them might. So before that give it some rest. Let it Rest in Peace. Look at the night sky, take a walk in the park, breathe the refrigerators cold air, smell a freshly unboxed book, lie down on your terrace in the evening. Let yourself be free of the worldly pressures. Your soul needs to relax. In short, let go of yourself, and you would see what life is made of.



Monday, May 7, 2012

Kal

Kaun kahan kab kaise kehta, 
Kitni kahaniyon ka kissa kalaam, 
Kitnon ke kal ka katl karde, 
Khokle kohre ka kaatil karwan..


कौन  कहाँ  कब  कैसे  कहता ,
कितनी  कहानियों  का  किस्सा  कलाम ,
कितनों  के  कल  का  क़त्ल  करदे ,
खोखले  कोहरे  का  कातिल  कारवां।  




Thursday, March 15, 2012

And it's Eleven..

First of all, thank you Leo for tagging me. I had no clue what this would be about but now that I have read it, it seems fun..! The only problem is, I really have no idea from where would I get 11 people!! Anyway, here are my answers:

  1. If you could change your name to any other, what would it be? (Same name can’t be the answer)
    "Arjun" I find it very strong and confident. Though there are many "Arjuns" who defy this interpretation!
  2. How would you change your worst nightmare into a most beautiful dream? My worst nightmare..umm..there can be many thoughts to it you know. Many kinds of nightmares, but to be honest, I have no idea of the answer!
  3. The one person who can make you to smile even in the darkest of times? My Parents, Actually my younger brother.
  4. An addiction that you have never regretted? Love Found
  5. An addiction that you have always regretted? Love Lost
  6. What defines weakness in a person? Weakness is anything that over rules your sense of judgement for the right. It can be anger, it can tears.
  7. Favorite dessert? Nirulas HCF, and Gajar Ka Halwa.
  8. What food perks you up when you are feeling low? Honey Chilli Potato, Hot Hard Crispy Chicken Kebabs
  9. Favorite movie of all time? Oh..many! Se7en, Schindlers List, A Beautiful Mind, Prison Break! (Its a Tv Series), And more recently Homeland.
  10. Does the look of a blog tell of the quality of its content too? Not always. There have been incidents with me when I revisited some of my earlier ignored blogs, and then thought of myself as the biggest fool to ignore them, just because they did not "appeal". You cant see a persons heart through a blogger template.
  11. A suggestion for my blog. Dude, I am in no capacity to do so for 'YOU'! Cmon! :)
 Thank you once again Leo. :) 

Friday, March 9, 2012

South Asian Challenge 2012

So here I take up the South Asian Challenge 2012. It appears to be a nice way to test the waters for how much can I devote to reading in my current year. I rarely have no patience and idea what would I do, but I would like to enjoy reading through and through! I aim for 15 books this year. Lets see how much this no. changes the whole year. 

The End

"You want to hear it? Here you go. I don't love you anymore."    *Disconnect*


A sprawling wheat farm welcomed him as he drove into the city. Flanked on both the sides by iridescent palm trees hugging each other as if in deep love, his entire soul took a satiating breath of content and ease as he stopped by a hustling river patch. Never had he experienced such a tranquil time before, atleast since almost half a decade. The merry chirping of sparrows pierced through his ears like a sharp squeal. He realised he wasn't used to such sounds. Howling winds had accompanied him since he began the journey, and now they seem to wash him off the heat and dust of Dehradun. The river spoke to him of volume, of love and the sun kissed his relieving smile. Stepping out of his SUV, he felt the wet sand yielding in as a plump and seductively cold Ganges swiftly licked his warm feet and retreated into itself. He could see well through his blue Aviators, yet he decided to take them off instantly. He wanted to feel the sight of Patna, a city he thought of something else as.






"You have no idea what you have done with my life. My parents have almost abandoned me."


Arjun could have never thought he would get an opportunity to have litti chokha in such unmarred authenticity. Once, and perhaps the only time he had them was two years ago, when his neighbours treated him with a hot roasted piece, and he instantly fell in love with the sattu masala filling. Sumptuously enough, he gorged on three pieces kept on his side of the table, while Manu, his closest competitor in terms of appetite, could not cross two. Feeling like a winner, Arjun stepped up decently enough, and approached the handpump. A handpump! "Damn me, was I ever to think I would have to use this to wash my hands ever in my life?", he said to himself silently.

Not that he was regretting coming to this place, infact Arjun felt a pride in himself of being actually able to use a handpump! "Ketan! will you come here for God damn sake! This thing is not stopping!", he called out. He was enjoying the crudeness of village life. After the rescue, three of them loaded themselves with the necessities and climbed their monster car, to set out for Nalanda, another monster that was dug out of Earth and proved that India had a whole university bigger than any of the present ones at around 500 BC, when the west was still learning to count.



"Fuck you! I hardly care whether you limp or cutoff your leg! I have a damn exam tomorrow and I cannot afford to fail it!"




Nalanda University, a goldmine for those who love archaeological monuments. An overpriced camera in hand, thinking himself of as the best photographer around, Arjun set off on a clicking spree. "Dude, you dont click hanging bananas with my cam dammit!", shouted Manu. "STFU moron, let me do my job. You would be the one bloating about these clicks on your profile page later.", retorted Arjun. As the magnificence of the structure ensued upon him slowly, fanaticism dominated him, and led to every brick, every wall, and every iron grill getting captured in his lens.



 Frantically clicking around, he forgot where he was and who he was with. Leaving Manu and Ketan far behind, both in distance and thoughts, mighty Arjun could not understand how it was possible for ancient Indians to be so developed in thoughts and planning. Every compartment, every brick laid on the incessant structure seemed to be an epitome of perfect planning. Endlessly walking around, they finally decided to walk out. Nalanda had proved its mettle in being one of the best pieces of ancient Indian architecture. He was in love.



"Love? And us? It seems like we have forgotten it long back. I remember a time crying for you . Now I only remember crying because of you."



"Lets go back. Its too cold out here.", aggrieved Ketan. "Are you stupid? You want my fist on your face?First you make us climb up so much, travelling in that "jhoola" you loved for no reason, and now you are moaning like a bitch to go back?", blasted Manu. It seemed Ketan was spared a deadly blow on his already deformed like face.





Rajgir, was a tiring job, but nonetheless proved well for such tiresome effort. Deep in the lanes of the outskirts of Patna, the place was famous for a Shanti Stupa at a well deserved height for such a fortress. Gleaming in bright white marble, with prayer flags atop, the Stupa spoke highly of the Buddhist serenity. A chilled wind caressing its dome all throughout the day, and the sun playing hard to squeeze in through the trees, the place was befitting the peace around it. "Abe lets leave yaar, its too cold.", begged Ketan. Complying with his request finally, Manu turned around to call for Arjun. He was no where to be seen.



"I told you! I failed that exam! Its all because of you! God would never forgive you for this. I have loved you more than anyone in this world, and you gift me this? Shame and apathy be yours!"





It was too late in the evening. Rajgir went empty. The crowd had descended long back but Manu and Ketan were exasperated. Wandering here and there, shouting out his names while treading down the small hills, they went berserk looking for their companion. Arjun was nowhere. His phone was out of reach. Their phones were on the verge of getting switched off. The network was playing hide and seek with them. Dusk had capped the clouds, which went dark grey. Stumbling over, they knew they hardly had any hope. Suddenly Ketan remembered something. While arriving in Rajgir, he noticed Arjun staring hard into a hoarding by the street side. It said, "Shruti Sweets". He knew what had happened. He was fearing something like this might happen to Arjun since he stepped in Patna.





"I called Ketan.  He was in class at that time. Maybe he hasn't told you. I did not fail.There was a roll number exchange with my paper and I cleared with 22 marks easily. Maybe you were right. Maybe you knew me too well when you said its impossible for me to fail. Maybe your love was too strong to let anything bad happen to me. However, this changes nothing. I am sorry, I have moved on. I might curse myself for this decision in future, for killing us for no fault of yours, but I am sorry. I have really moved on. I am going back to Patna for my summer break. And as I said that day, if you want to hear it, here it goes: I don't love you anymore. Bye."  *Disconnect*






 Manu's feet were trying to catch up with Ketans as he sped in the East direction deep into the hills. Now he knew where his brother might be. He knew Arjun liked dark places and silent moments in times like this. Stumbling over rocks and wet grass, Ketan saw it. The bag. Arjuns back reclined to a small rock on the ground. He rushed to the place, with Manu following desperately to see his lost comrade. As Ketan's glance fell on Arjun's back, he slowly treaded towards him. Sitting crosslegged on the soil, with a broken wooden branch shaft in his hand, Ketan's eye fell on the ground. And he heard a drop falling on the the wet soil right about Arjuns folded knee. Something was written there.













"The End"























Monday, February 20, 2012

The 'About Me' Fiasco

Sometimes, you just have the perfect topic to write upon. Two hours back, my confused self was surfing the net as usual for unmentionable stuff. A report here, an article there, facebook, twitter, blog etc when I landed upon one of the most neglected and cornered points of a social site, the About Me section. And to my surprise, it was blank on my profile.


Several thoughts flooded my brains, some aptly describing me, some way away from the actual me, still trying to convince me that it was the 'right thing' to write. To be at loggerheads with your own self about  your own self is the worst nightmare. For around ten minutes, I could not write even a word. And I was really aggrieved. You spend valuable time and incessant amount of energy trying to scribble amazing poems, the most sought after fiction and yet you fail to write things that describe your own self! Wriggling defeat in my own self, and with a disturbed conscience, I frantically drank a glass of water carrying a heavy breath.


Several minutes later, I penned down something. I do not know whether it is conclusive of what I actually am. Amidst a disappointing state of affairs, my heart began to shrink. I wore a heavy sense of defeat in me, almost crying to the damn thought of failing to describe what I myself am. Banging down the laptop lid, I ran to the balcony all disappointed, frantic and cold. Saved by my mothers call for breakfast, I soon disappeared down the hall.


Instead of a relief, the breakfast turned out to be a disaster. I left the table wondering whether I even deserve to be the elder son. Zillion questions swarmed my brain, rendering my confidence to its knees and myself, huh, to no damn where. I was lost, worried for my parents future, and indebted to my younger brother for supporting the family in my absence. To what I should have been, that kid has performed exceptionally well being that. It was like, an amalgamation of pride and disappointment. A lethal mixture of vanity and stress. Vanity and stress, both together call themselves a fiery comet of depression. And I was riding on that. I am riding on that.


And about me, well, that is a fraction of it for now. Actually, I havent even begun. My fear has no bounds right now. I have never ever felt so helpless and vulnerable, as far as my love for my family goes.


Anyway, I hope to scribble down more during my train journey. And well, thats about me for now, my car is waiting.

The Old Leaf

These days mostly I am out of sync. To call myself a lost freak is my favourite time pass. Still, I must mention this. My inability to write anything these days is attributed to the cacophony of my thoughts and desires. I remember my days of writing...

A mindful of heart wrenching thoughts, dutifully accompanied by a pen and a cup of hot coffee. The soul used to utter nothing, yet said it all. And that is how I decided to name myself first as The Silent Soul, if people remember. Light head, heavy thoughts used to guard my day all along. Every faint voice in my head used to transform into a prose, every feeling into a short poem. I remember vividly still, the fire was so strong, I used to pen down thoughts and poems in a matter of ten minutes, after returning from college. The professor used to be busy with his differential calculus, and I, the epitome of lost majnoo, would be engrossed in my "integral calculus". Beautifully incarnated lines, stories and a pleasant demeanor was my forte on my blog. I made one of the sweetest friends here, some of them are surely going to be in my love books for my entire life, (I hope you guys are reading it). Four of the most beautiful people in my life presently, have been gifted to me by this place. The say I write well and should continue with it, (both facts are impossible it seems!) and I really appreciate their modesty, as they themselves are gems and amazing writers who have taught so much to me. I remember sharing comments and learning through them. I miss it. I miss everything. I do not know where is that self of me who used to impregnate me with feelings. Life has taken a nasty turn, and I, the silent soul has been muted towards its thoughts and feelings. It feels like the soul is searching for a body, and yes the soul is, thus, fervently restless. 

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Void

Trapped in the deep ravine of self,
Lies a mortal man,
Crumbling inside the mirror of deeds,
Lay with fear, hand in hand.


A mirror to lie to,
Yet his grave conscience to face,
The mortal has lived for ages unheard,
With a pen, a broken heart and a crippled grace.


Oh no, not a poet ever,
Still the ballads of confusion prevail,
Demeaning the mere existence of truth,
Hanging by a broken rail.


Oh no, not an artist ever,
Embossed in the paint of the fiery canvas,
A canvas of lies and grim reality encore,
Spends a day with friends, and night with the dream whore.


Hush the valley, oh he is falling in,
The immortal man, who is dying within.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Blah blah...Oh Blah!

A new day. And the last of the lot. I regain a confidence and take a look at the clock. Damn. Its 12pm again. I promised myself to stick to a routine! Why the hell do I submit to this chilly weather around me? Isnt there a way to elbow it out and make a free space for my damaged confidence? I mean, I wish to get up at 7, get ready, and get the complete day to myself. Half the day is already gone and its Tuesday; Saturday I would back in Dehradun for my last innings of 3 arduously boring months. I need to enforce self discipline. 10 mins, and I need to go out for some work, on which I have tried a lot to convince the other party of numerous reasons that I cant make it. Turns out that I am not good at plating excuses on someones face.

The geyser is bubbling and so is my mind. Why can I not stick to a routine? I am such a shameless creep who cant keep his own promises, leave alone expecting others to be fulfilled! (Oh I made myself sound an unreliable freak, I am not that bad....or am I?). Anyway, I really need to consider revamping the routine. I have more important .....


Here goes my toast. Its on fire. Bye. 

Monday, January 2, 2012

Perfect

A while ago, the clock struck 12. The tik tok of the hand brazing aside the mark could be well heard by me. I lay in my comfy bed, thinking aloud; thinking about the word: Perfect.

There is a strong sense of positiveness lingering around this seven lettered word. A plethora of images wobble around ones mind when you hear Perfect. A perfect man. A perfect body. A perfect weather. A perfect shape. A perfect smile. A perfect gesture. A perfect score. And many more.

However, why is it not possible to define A Perfect Tear? A perfect hurt? Maybe, a perfect agony? Why is the word perfect not able to define a lost love, something like, A Perfect Betrayal? No it does not. Because conventionlism overshadows innovation. The convention lies in the fact that perfect is akin absolute. The best, or perhaps the greatest. maybe that is why, there cannot be a "best" tear, the "absolute" agony, or the "greatest" lost love! Perfection bears synonimity with idealism. However, even a fraction of truth does not prevail here.

If asked to me, I would define Perfect by another word: Illusion. It isnt the positiveness, but anything, that claims to be perfect. Yes, it is illusion. Someone would surely counter me by saying, "What nonsense, I know of someone, who scored a "Perfect" hundred in their exam! Isnt  that perfect?" I would humbly submit a no to them. Did he score a "perfect" hundred in all his subjects? If yes, did he score a "Perfect" hundred in all his subjects and the same in all his terms? If yes, did he do the same throughout his Senior Secondary school? If yes, then please tell me did he do it in every single exam he faced since he entered his school, till he completed his post graduation? I wonder.

Calling anything, anyone perfect is disgrace to humanity. If they are perfect, they don't qualify as a homo sapien. If they do, then you don't qualify as a homo sapien! Nothing in this world is perfect. The day, an emotion, a success, a word, a belief, a practice achieves perfection, we can be sure about the dissolution of mere existence of everything. Everything before that would crave for being perfect. Everything would claim to be "more perfect". The basic human nature would not let us rest at homes, thinking of something that is achievable but not yet achieved. The world, then would surely crumble under its own weight.

Ok, why am I writing this? The truth is that I have been seeking it i.e Perfection. I desire it badly. Perfection in attire, impeccable success, an ocean of knowledge, and love beyond the greatest lovers; Everything incites me   to achieve the best. I crave to see the best light, the best form, and this quest for the best leads to me moments like this. I am trapped in my own web, struggling to weave through a way that helps me untangle myself from this absurdity. A very common proverb goes as, "You feed the tiger some blood, you would be its meal one day." Maybe not falling "perfectly" in place, this proverb, however entails the common behaviour of the common man. You let him taste success, and he can kill for more. He can cheat for more, he can lie to the loved ones, he can hurt the closest. I don't look at myself as a person to the likes of above genres. I have tasted success, a bit of it. I have been at the top of the totem pole of a unimaginable success. However, you cant stand at the top for long. The high is always temporary. Alcohol or success are the same. You cant enjoy swinging at the top for long. So, I came down generously to my personality, and began looking for another high. However this time, I do not want anything except myself to improve. To achieve what I want to become. 

I want to get to the top of my satisfaction once again. I wish to look in the mirror and call myself perfect, even though I know that for anyone who desires this, their world would come crumbling down under the weight of their own desires.

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