The Unexplainaible

A man started penning down his diary entry as usual.


"Dear diary,
This would be my last entry.


"Lift the lid. It would be underneath my plate..yes, that one. The brown one." His cracked voice seemed to consume all the breath he collected the 2 struggling hours. Shivering hands, and an impregnable desire in his blind eyes, led me to do what he requested. I picked it up and blew off the dust from the hardbound cover. There it was embedded in bold magenta, the words, "Diary 1958".

The sounds of the vintage cars, the wailing of the kids in the market, the beer cans on the streets and the trucks thumping up and down the lanes... Germany was full of life on a sunny October afternoon. His hair and the sunlight were true lovers. They could not be seperated. There was this peculiar yet familiar zing around his character. He possessed a very prominent spark in him. The one which you get when you feel that you are the happiest...you are on top of this materialistic world. When you achieve something as rare as true peace. It was this spark that drove me to him. Everyday at 2pm. Regularly, now...for the past 12 years.

I looked at the rusted clock behind me. I can look now, was a random feeling that arose. Its been 9 years since that smoke made me blind, and I underwent an eye transplant. But this random feeling arises in me very frequently now. Flipping through the pages with sheer disinterest, I glanced at him. He was smiling. I wished that I could ask, "Do you realise I have other patients to attend? Can you be quick?" But I couldnt because i just couldnt be rude to him. So I asked,"Abel, which part do you really want me to read out to you?" He replied in his broken, husky, and now typical Abel Goldstein voice, "I wish you could read all of it out to me, but now as you can't, read after March 1979. And be loud."

He said that like a weak command. But I began. With the doubt-"why is he making me read aloud his own diary?" I could not decipher the logic. Ignoring the desire to decipher, I started reading. There were mentions of his new job, the new apartment he bought, his first self paid trip to Frankfurt, his first love..every random incident of his life was inked in blue on those dry parchment like pages. As I reached September 1979, I started feeling awkward. Terribly awkward. I felt immobilized.

I read something:



"September 18th, 1979.

Today you gave birth to my boy. I am so happy! I want to fly! I cannot control my emotions when I touch his pulpy head, see his engrossing stare! I thank you, Samantha, for being my wife. I love you like anything..Today you gave me the most precious gift of my life. I wont forget bed No. 312 on which you lie right now. I promise I would die on it. I am so happy for both of us. I know you love me a lot. I so wish your father accepts us. I know thats not a possibility, as I am a doctor, and he doesnt want a doctor as your husband. I know you must be having thoughts troubling you in your mind about deciding not to drop the child and bring him him to life without marrying me. But I promise we would marry. Thank you sweetheart. I love you."



October 21st, 1979

This would be my last entry. Samantha, you promised you wont leave me...I never imagined this would happen. Your father didnt kill YOU, he killed both of us. I have no strength left to write anything more. I would just like to say one thing. I named him Ron. Ron Baker. I donated him to an orphanage 20 days back. I dont know why I did that. Maybe because I had to marry someone else. But I promise I would be around him always. You would always be my wife, and he..my son. I love you both."



I read this sentence and he asked for his diary. He kept it upside down on himself and placed both his hands on it. I froze on the chair I was sitting on, and kept staring at him...lying there unmoved.

Next morning, HE died of unknown reasons. And I witnessed his death with my eyes....rather his eyes. And this was the game.

Dr. Ron Baker
October 21st, 2008."

US!

Where the door is not shut, instead it is slammed,
Where the most important thing to us is our CS Clan,
The day always starts after dinner, and ends in a "Damn!",
We call that place a "Hostel", where life always hits a bang!

The eyes struggle open two minutes before class,
The hunger is excruciating, we can agree to eat yellow grass!
Still we get up, and wear a week old uniform,
And run to class to face a sleepy storm!

And a realization gets born, in our half asleep conscience,
"This is the last day, from tomorrow all this should end",
And the moment we step in our actually filthy but "clean" den,
The resolution decays like Uranium as we pretend!

And the days fly by, and we forget whats a breakfast,
Movies are our food for soul, 3 a day, or 1 on a fast,
Pranks become a way of life, the musics on 24hours,
Undisputed freedom lies within, restrictions become a thing of the past...!!

All goes well till the time arrives,
4 days for the first exam is what we are supposed to realise,
"Ho jayega, tension nahi leni",
Chanting this mantra, we absorb fake respite!

Now comes the memory unbound,
Of the moms food, and dad around,
Home seems the ultimate breather,
And nail biting the activity around!

Phones switched off, even for home calls,
We holds hands together, and face the course as it stands tall,
Maggi at 2:00 am, and quarter soup at 4:00,
That is the saver staple for us all...

Last exam is always a pain,
Homes calling once again!!
Widest smiles can be seen that day,
And faces read "Here we go away!"

Life in a hostel rocks alive,
In such few lines, it cannot be described,
Friends and politics, live together,
But what we hostelers live, is called LIFE!!!!




PS: Cross posted on the Lounge

The Solitary Ring

Hi ppl... been such a long tym since i posted last... busy with exams(yuck!) and other stuff... I missed writing a lot! but then now i am back...and this time with a poem inked on the paper of reality.....

Hope its a reasonable return!! Enjoy.. ;)



Burdened and strained my sight wanders,
Lands upon the cold night crescent,
Eyes close and twitch..with a sought after wish,
To restore the sanctity....and once again, not to face the end..

They were several, the months of jeopardised existence,
Spent alone, being friends with walls
That moment was one hell of the demons claw,
The one in which you disconnected the 'final call'..


It fell apart,
I was stranded on an empty road,
Left alone with that unbound restiveness,
And the broken ring, to coruscate it more..

But safely I hid the broken piece,
In the mud..out in the field,
So i could take it out the day i see,
The sunrise on the beach, with you besides me...

Hope was all that was left,
A strong belief that you will return,
Hours and days nd weeks and months,
Time stopped, My wishes didn't...

Then a day came, infact 'THE DAY' came,
Despair got flogged by the hands of hope,
Though we had started talking a fortnight ago........

That night LOVE triumphed.....

You said "it", and the ring emerged,
Through the wet sand....and life eloped!

Or so it seemed?? Cause' the demons are here,
They go nowhere,
Mistakes were realised, but still were repeated,
Frustration surrounded,
The purpose defeated!!

Alas! It was an illusuion of the desire,
A week to bolster the "fall" a bit higher!
You were not the defaulter, neither was I,
But now why do "I" feel, the urge to say goodbye???

What not i did?
What not i sacrificed?,
For us to see the sun together,
Of what not i got deprived?

Now I hold the Solitary Ring,
Isolate and and desolate, in the dead centre of my palm,
I know not what the truth is, I know not how to get you along..
You havent changed so your silence will doubtlessly repeat
At my every question, so i already comprise inconceivable defeat,

It has not yet reached the end, You are not yet gone,
I am puzzled to solve you, been through hell and beyond!
Left again with the hope to get reborn,
and too many questions......and the fear of the next dawn....

Its Not Our Fault.. (Part II)

No we don’t have to. But the question is, what is there that we can do? And the painful but ironical answer is Nothing! Nothing until the Law wakes up. I wonder, and present one question in front of you:

What will you do to stop the incidents of rape by setting an example if a convict is handed over to YOU? Completely. Without any restrictions?

If this question is asked to me, I will transform from what I really am. The people around me know I am a person with not a single violent bone in my body and that I also don’t support barbarism. But if I would have been given an opportunity like the above one, I would have surely done something similar to the movie Gangaajal. Yes I would have, with not even a single regret. I would have made him feel what PAIN feels like. And not only the physical pain. The pain of facing the society. The pain of seeing your scarred soul in the mirror. The pain of that girl who was raped by 10 men one by one, and then left desolated, the pain of her family who is expected to answer questions charged at them while they fight the trauma they are facing. I would surely try to do what I can to set an example for all those criminal born minds out there. And I expect that every single person reading this should feel the same. The problem is that, I would never be allowed to do it. None of us would.. The only issue is that we are JUST NOT ALLOWED and to the government, STINKING VOTE BANKS ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LIFE OF THAT SIMPLE MBA GIRL STUDENT WHICH IS NOW SCARRED FOR LIFE. Thats why I say, its not our FAULT. We have empty palms. We are just expected to sit in hopeless rallies, to give empty speeches, to pay donations major part of which goes to the safes of those characterless, stinking and corrupt termites who are eating up the inside of this country to fill their stomachs. We are just expected to be mere spectators of the felony that our own people face, which we are indirectly made to breed.

It would be really disturbing to even IMAGINE one of our own family members going through something unfortunate, wouldn’t it?

So to prevent this, we have no flipendo sticks with us to do magic. It would consume time, but it needs to START. We need to stop giving rallies on child abuse, and start with HOW TO TERMINATE IT!

We need to enlighten our government, not the public!

And if our giant infected embodiment of corruption does not have enough ideas to execute, Ask us! ASK THE BROTHER OF THAT GIRL! Ask the father of that girl! We will provide you ideas! We will show HOW, if one convicts goes through something barbaric and horrendous just ONCE, by the hands of public or the government and if this is aired on LIVE TV instead of our so loved scripted talent shows and utterly uninformative news of earth ending in 2013, or a buffalo flying...............the next criminal would probably think a hundred times before risking his life under the blades of unhuman and barbaric treatment.

...and soon every child would feel free...

...and soon every elderly would live free...

...and soon every family would celebrate freedom...

Oh yeah....

...and soon...

“ladkiyon ko kisi se bhaagne ki zarurat nahi padegi..”.



PS: cross posted on weandwords.blogspot.com

Its Not Our Fault..(Part I)

I recently saw Ghajini. To be true, according to me, except aamir, the rest of the acting looked like being really untrained. I mean, the policewaala runs, then Aamir runs behind him and then Jiah follows! What idiocy? But yes, even though it was a remake of Memento, the story somehow managed to leave a little bit of impression on me. Anyhow, I am certainly not here to portray my critical abilities. Then what made me describe this? Yesterday’s headlines.

To start with I would like to share my immediate reaction to the text i read. Owing to the inherent monotonousness of the event, it did not provoke anything in me, except, putting it down in words. I am confident about my assumption, which is that this very same feeling would have been there in many psyches who would have read those unfortunately familiar words. Its not at all rare! Its really common. Probably so common, that even if a grotesque and monstrous image of it appears on any of the news channels, we dont halt anymore. Our souls are not hoicked. Our mind is so preoccupied by the worries of the latest brands that we have to buy today, or by the meeting with some international big shots who have managed their nation so well that they rarely come across events like this, or by a social party we have to attend in the evening...we are so accompanied by these “essentialities” that the echoing holler of the half naked and severely bruised girl lying on that pavement or the dirty gutter, not dirtier than the Indian pervert psyche, goes shamelessly unnoticed.

I glanced at that text , “A 24yr old MBA student raped in Noida”, and immediately that dialogue by this new actress Asin, in Ghajini reverberated in me- “Kin kin logon se bhaagengi ladkiya..” As I had mentioned earlier, it really did not jerk me. A thought, or half, would have struck me and the next moment I was reminded of an important call that I had to make. And this very news faded away in the already populated (read: polluted) conscious of mine. But something did make me think about this for long and arrive at a very obvious conclusion which needed to be highlited. The next day, i.e. today, that news had been allotted a small corner of page three in the main newspaper, but the shocking part is, it contained something really horrendous. An aged man, probably a mukhiya of the village where the incident took place, was highlighted making this statement, “So what? The girl was JUST raped. Its not a big deal.” This was something really dismaying. That too, coming from an elderly!! This statement baffled me to a very unexpected extents. I was shocked. In fact, for that matter, I still am. My mind could not arrive at anything but one statement, “Its not OUR mistake”.

Yes its not. Its not our mistake that we do not pay any attention. Or we do not act much except for expressing our grief and commenting on events like this and then forgetting about it. Its the mistake of the Indian Law enforcement agencies, and the government, or in the words of a layman, the RULES which are there in India. I quote another example from the Indian cinema highlighting my point. The movie Gangaajal. I know..whats the first thought that would come to anyone reading this. No! We can’t be barbaric! I know...even I used to say such things. And I know myself that I am not a person who has a violent bone in my body, or supports any kind of barbarism. But I have a few questions to everyone reading this:

How much PATIENCE are we supposed to keep and how much BELIEF are we supposed to have in the authorities’ perennial hollow promises?

How many times do we have to stray ourselves away from this bitter and ghastly truth that The Indian Law and Order is a perfect embodiment of WASTE OF RESOURCES AND BRAINS?

Are we supposed to nurture these rapes, and murders, and child abuse etc by just looking “away” from them accepting the fact that we can do NOTHING?

(contd..)

PS: Cross posted on The Lounge

Rendezvous 2009

Dedicated to all those who are incomplete this new year...being my last post this year, I wanted to concentrate my attention to those who are less fortunate and are missing someone.

He was well aware of this in his subconscious. He knew this was going to turn out like this. And he was certain; it wasn’t going to be good. The icy wind of the last night of December 2008 slapped his dry cheeks while he stood at the rooftop. Alone, in barely a matted black tee, and thin carbon black jeans, and a pair of slippers, he leaned on the wall. The chill was biting him to the bones, making him shiver, or for that matter shudder. But he just wanted to be there. Unaccompanied. Leaning to the extent of touching his forehead on the wall strip, he saw the fracture on the wall. Between his palms. It had an incessant fragrance coming out of it. It was pleasant. A smirk was all which he could manage at that agonizing moment. And then, the agony led to a drop, expanding in the crevice, filling it to the top.

Never did he want it to happen this way. In fact, he never wanted it to happen in the first place! Less than 24 hours and the world will transcend in a new set of 12 speedy months. Celebrations, happiness, joy and glee, and a whole lot of delightful emotions would be there in every psyche on this earth. He desired to be a part of them. But he knew it was unlikely. He may reflect it through his face and gestures, but truth would nibble him...each and every moment, scraping his inside to make it a void. He just couldn’t be elated this New Year. No matter how much he tried. He knew it. This New Year would be an encounter with his own soul to keep it from scattering into fragments.

“...chand lamhaat ke vaaste hi sahi, muskura kar mili thi mujhe zindagi...” He heard the song being played at a distance of few hundred metres and slammed his cold frozen palm on the wall strip. Yet another instance when Simar (name changed) was dragged back in the beautiful past he spent with her by the deeds of the humanity (here, playing the song). It was a dismal situation for a guy who was considered the charm symbol...and now, who had malformed in sheer silence.

It had been 3months when he was left in a situation where zillion questions were incorporated in him and he had answers to none of them. Where every step he took reminded him of the bliss of time that they spent together in the past 2 years. Where he was left alone to face the brutality of the New Year. Where every sighting, whether it be a baby, a flower, a torn parchment, his own hand, a song, a statement, a joke, a breath, a touch, or even a damn stroke of wind would remind him of the beautiful time they spent together! He glanced towards the sky and it fell on a group of stars they talked about once!!!! Every damn thing around him would make him recall his commitment and the beautiful relationship that they shared. Her damn voice would resonate through his ear drums to his body which made him feel like getting pierced by a million knives all over him. He tried to contact her after it happened, and all that he was gifted with was, “Why don’t you understand? I just DONT WANT it now! You cant see me happy can you?” That excruciating moment was embedded in his deep inside forever. Considering the fact that for their happiness, for the relation, he travelled 4000 miles just to meet her, he never imagined that he would be slapped with these statements ever till he was breathing. He knew his slip-ups too. He knew where he was wrong. He knew where the loopholes were created by him. He had apologised. Not once but trillion times. A promise was made by Simar’s heart that everything would revolutionize. It wasn’t that it was one sided mistakes. Both of them were involved. He had promised her things would change. But all the promises fell on deaf ears.

It wasn’t what Simar wanted. He still cared. He still wanted it back. He still wanted to make her realise that she ended something which was supposedly eternal! He still had not forgotten her. And their love. He wanted it all back and a fresh start. He wanted her to talk about it! He wanted to discuss it out. He wanted to just talk to her! He had restrained himself from doing so after she asked for her “happiness” in his non interference. He wanted her to realise how insane a step she took. How both of their lives were parallel and in need of each other. He wanted a lot to happen! He wanted somebody to do something for them, to suggest him, anything that would even hope to work. His desperateness was trapped inside his heart like a man tied to the earth trying to escape a meteor about to fall bang on his forehead........

The nail came off. It was 2:50 am from 11pm. Sitting on the cemented stairs, he had been draining off his thoughts, his frustration, his agony through the nail underneath the cold cemented surface Simar had more pain inside him than on his bleeding fingers. Through the foggy Delhi night, he could read out, though minimally, a big banner of “Happy New Year 2009” being transported to somewhere through a loader. Another pang of crucifying grief smeared all over him. His eyes accompanied the banner till it vanished in the fog. He rose and decided that he’s gonna keep everything inside. And, atleast for the outside world, be the same Simar who is known for his charm, his strength, his enchanting personality and his respect for his parents. Parents who took care of him as a child diagnosed with severe PPRP in his left limb and cast him so perfectly that he became an inspiration for others.

Limping down the stairs he thought it wasn’t less commitment from any side. In fact he knew she loved him more than anything. But what she did because of her childish brains had cost him LOVE. He approached the roof door, and before closing it down behind him, closed his eyes, wished her a very happy new year and just murmured, “As usual, bless you...”

PS: Wish all you guys a really happy and prosperous 2009. May all u guys accomplish ur dreams......have fun ppl....chao.

What should I do...

I dont know what to write..I really want to write something but it seems my thought station is too clouded. But i want to get the rains in it. I really want to empty out something deep inside me....deep inside.....and i want my pen to be the channel of it.

But its refusing to give me ideas..Excessive thoughts, i guess, might have lead to this. But thats what i wanna get rid of! Its too frustrating...I have got my exams in a week. I have to study. I have to work hard or else my GPA will sink to the very bottom of what it is already now(its already on the seafloor). But I just cant ignore this away, avoidance has become one of the most tough jobs.

I really wanna write something......But i dont know what...and i dont know how. Its just too tough to pick up your textbooks and think about studying. But theres a war going on. Between the two cerebral lobes residing in my cranial box. Wtf should I do then!!!! I cant sleep...Coz i woke up just now..

Its really taxing. I guess i should close this or else i'll end up openig up the lid of my laptop through a complete 360.